


Seasons of Change

by GstarRoss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Dating, Drinking, F/M, Fame, First Kiss, First Time, Football, Football | Soccer, Gay, Gay Sex, Gen, Gossip, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I won't abandon it! Promise!!!, Interviews, Kissing, Lies, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, No Fire, No Werewolves, No really... some of it is very slow, Other, Outing, Panic Attacks, Premiership, Secrets, Sex, Slow Build, Soccer AU, Stiles dad is called Tom, Threesome, Twitter, a lot written already, abusive language, chat shows, closet, debate, football chants, footballer!Scott, footballer!derek, footballer!stiles, friendships, fully planned, long fic, no one's dead, online
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 111,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2628449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GstarRoss/pseuds/GstarRoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski are two footballers facing a season in the Championship after their team gets relegated.  One of them has a secret which, in football, can not be shared.  Derek accepts the captaincy of a world famous Premiership football team and needs to build a team of new players quickly. </p><p>The Premiership isn't ready for what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transfer News

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody!
> 
> Update: A note on relationship tags. I'm not putting relationship tags on until they turn up...
> 
> Update: This is going to be very, very long - OK, not that long. It'll still be quite long, but I think I'm gonna stop at what was a midpoint... It's all planned out and I've written a bucketload of it already. Having said that, any comments, ideas, suggestions, questions you have are gratefully received and I'm happy to play around if it fits with my main vision.
> 
> This fic will be updated every Sunday and Wednesday, at least for the next few weeks.
> 
> It's self-betaed so please forgive any glaring typos/spelling mistakes/grammar errors.
> 
> I don't work in football so have *no idea* if this is how any of it would work, but it makes sense in my head. 
> 
> I'm also using the real names of a lot of footballers. I don't know *any* of them and have no idea what they would say or how they'd react in any given situation. This is pure make believe and I'm just using them as it makes sense.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please do comment... it really does make me smile like nothing else... :-)

 

 

 

 

 

BBC Sport: Football: Transfer News

Transfer deals - July 2014

The summer transfer window is open until 23:00 BST on Monday, 1 September.

 

Visit our [ **manager ins and outs page**](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/28180376) for a list of all the current bosses in the top five leagues in England and the Scottish Premiership.

 

To read the day's transfer rumours, visit our [ **gossip column.**](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/gossip/)

 

 **Hottest rumours:** Derek Hale, Captain of LA Galaxy and Team USA, in talks with Louis Van Gaal and Manchester United.  This would be a huge move for the world famous team and a massive departure from the team managed by Alex Fergusson – the most successful manager in history.

 **Biggest British signing so far:** Alexis Sanchez - Barcelona to Arsenal for about £35m.

 **Busiest clubs this summer:** Shrewsbury Town have signed 16 players.

 **Busiest Premier League clubs:** Burnley and Newcastle have signed six players each.

 **Quietest clubs this summer:** Manchester United – still to sign any new players.

**Today’s topic: What to do about Man U?**

Manchester United, the Red Devils, have historically been one of the most successful clubs in UK football.  They have won more cups and league titles (20) than any other club currently playing in the Premier League, the top flight of UK football.  Their biggest rivals, Man City have only won it four times, twice when it’s been known as the Premier League, though one of those was last season and they will be hoping to repeat the performance in the 2014/2015 season.  Manchester United’s other rivals, Liverpool FC, have won the title eighteen (18) times and will no doubt be hoping to make that nineteen this year.

What everyone really wants to know is; what happened last season?  Manchester United went from one of the best football teams in Britain, if not the World, under legendary manager Alex Fergusson, to a disastrous season which saw them finish 7th.

Let’s look at the history - On 8 May 2013, Ferguson announced that he was to retire as manager at the end of the football season, but would remain at the club as a director and club ambassador. The club announced the next day that [Everton](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Everton_F.C.) manager [David Moyes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Moyes) would replace him from 1 July, having signed a six-year contract.[Ryan Giggs](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryan_Giggs), who has played for Manchester United since 1987, took over as interim player-manager. 10 months later on 22 April 2014, Moyes was sacked after a poor season in which the club failed to defend their Premier League title and failed to qualify for the [UEFA Champions League](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UEFA_Champions_League) for the first time since 1995–96.They also failed to qualify for the Europa League, meaning that it was the first time Manchester United hadn't qualified for a European competition since 1990. On 19 May 2014, it was confirmed that [Louis van Gaal](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_van_Gaal) would replace Moyes as Manchester United manager on a three-year deal, with Giggs as his assistant. [Malcolm Glazer](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malcolm_Glazer), the patriarch of the Glazer family that owns the club, died on 28 May 2014, leaving his brother in charge, a man known to be less invested in football than his late brother.

So where does that leave us? What should van Gaal’s priorities be? Are you a Man U fan? Let us know your opinions. Contact us on Facebook, Twitter and through the BBC website.

_08:00 Chris Forest (for BBC Sport):_

So, lots of transfer news to discuss today everyone? Anything catch your eye? Tell you what, I was surprised that Cardiff City let Matt Daehler go as a free agent… While he may not have been as successful as his Under 18’s performance might suggest, you’d think Cardiff would need all the help they could get after relegation.

Then our topic of the day – whatta to do with Man U? Do we think Derek Hale will leave Galaxy? Would that even be a good fit? Tweet, text, email us and let us know what you think.

_08:10 Cardiffthroughandthrough_

Daehler’s no loss, he was useless after all that stuff with that girl came out, I don’t know if he did it or not, but it definitely affected his play.

_08:12 Chris Forest_

Please remember that we need to be careful what we say about ongoing legal disputes, but yes, that wouldn’t have helped his focus.

_08:15 Cardiffthroughandthrough_

**_Redacted for legal reasons._ **

_08:16 Chris Forest_

Seriously! We can’t comment on ongoing legal issues.   What about Hale? I think that he could give Manchester the shoot in the arm they need.

_08:18 Mike from Manchester_

I don’t know anything about Hale, but Man U need something – last season was an embarrassment.  Fergie’s giants are aging and we need fresh blood but don’t know if Glazier will let van Gaal have it.

_08:20 Chris Forest_

Good points – Derek Hale has come up through the ranks of LA Galaxy and is their centre midfield captain.  He’s a goal scorer and play setter and since taking the captaincy has really pushed his team on to new heights.  He captained the USA football team in the World Cup and impressed many, despite their exit just before the quarter finals.  He’s spoken of wanting new challenges though and van Gaal met with him one-to-one in the friendly last week.

I liked your question Mike – will Man United owner Glazier and the Red Footballer group allow club manager Louis van Gaal the money he needs for transfers?

_08:24 Sally P._

Hale was immense in the World Cup, but wouldn’t Tim Howard be a better pull from Team USA?

_08:26 Chris Forest_

Maybe, but De Gea seems happy at with Man U at Old Trafford… or do you know something I don’t?!

_08:30 ToffeeBlue_

Van Gaal’s said that he wants to work with the coaches and captain before making buying decisions – if he doesn’t want Rooney as captain, and Giggs is too old, maybe he’s waiting to buy in a Captain and work with him?

_08:32 FootballFocus (bbc)_

Manchester United require some new, fresh players – they’re looking at a lot of injuries and older players.  They’ll be crazy not to start picking up some of the younger English players – what about McCall and Stilinski at Fulhum? They’ll not want to play in the Championship after their seasons?

_08:34 Chris Forest_

Good point, FF! Scott McCall remember was the striker who put four goals away against Germany in the U-19s game last year and, had he not been on loan to Celtic until April, would have made a huge difference to Fulham’s year – he could have saved them!

_08:41 FulhamFan_

Biggest mistake ever letting McCall go to Scotland.  Stilinski lost without him – long balls to nowhere.  Together they’re great though – fingers crossed we keep em but not holding my breath.

_08:43 Chris Forest_

Statistics on Stilinski – goals 4, assists 11, shots per game 3.2, successful pass percentage 84.3, aerial duals won 0.2, Man of the Match 1, red cards 0, yellow cards 3.

_08:44 Josh H_

So… lob high balls at him then – that boy can’t jump!

_08:45 Chris Forest_

Yeah, but look at the pass success – that’s huge! And FulhamFan is right – Stilinski to McCall passes would be high 90s, they’ve played together for years…

_08:52 Brain R_

I think Hale would be an amazing get for Man U – Rooney would throw a fit though, which would be a funny enough reason to do it! :p

_08:53 Chris Forest_

Are Man U not feeling the Rooney love?

_08:55 Dave B_

NO! Old, overpaid and useless – World Cup anyone?!

_08:57 Chris Forest_

OK guys… just been told that there’s a press conference at Old Trafford at 09:15, let’s see what van Gaal has to say – predictions?

_09:00 Josh H_

Rooney Captain? Van Persie injury? Either way a disaster for Man U!

_09:01 Sally P_

Signing, definitely – McCall would be cool?

_09:01 ToffeeBlue_

Signing – Hale, BBC wouldn’t start a topic thread like this without knowing something was in the pipeline.

_09:02 Chris Forest_

Thanks for the vote of confidence – sadly, BBC let us pick the topics pretty much as we like, would be cool if I’d been right though!

_09:04 Football Focus (BBC)_

Ha! BBC knowing something in advance from Premier League teams! :-D that’s hilarious!

_09:09 Chris Forest_

OK guys, lets see what the conference is.

 

 

Derek stood in the plush corridor next to the Old Trafford Media Room.  He picked at his black zip up top with the Manchester United logo on it.  It wasn’t his kit top yet; they’d want time to pick his number, mass produce them and do a separate launch for that – selling kits was a major part of the football business after all.

His handler smiled at him and Derek realised he’d forgotten her name, not that it precisely mattered, but it bothered him slightly.  He frowned trying to get a hold of his nerves.  Having only played for LA Galaxy, he’d never had a press conference like this.  Mind you, he doubted anyone would have had a press conference like his.  He was taking the captaincy of Manchester United.  An outsider, a yank no less, as skipper of the most famous club in the World.

He looked across at Uncle Peter who was tapping on his tablet, distracted, but Derek was still grateful for his presence.  Derek smiled remembering how quickly Peter had taken over the meeting with Louis van Gaal as soon as he realised that it was something Derek wanted.

And it was.

He had loved his years at LA Galaxy but Manchester United was Manchester United – even had he not been offered the captaincy Derek would probably have gone anyway.  Having a manager who seemed genuinely interested on his input, especially on new signings, was the icing on the cake.

“You OK Uncle P?” He asked at his frowning kinsman.

“Mmmm? Yeah, sorry. Just a message from your Uncle Duke.” Peter said, flipping the cover back over the tablet.

“Oh, yeah, you in trouble for the impromptu trip to England?” Derek asked, smirking.

“I was until I reminded my delightful husband of the fee I get as your agent.”  Peter responded with a smile.  Derek laughed fondly. With his uncles living in Florida he didn’t get to see them as much as he’d like to, but knew for all their bickering they were utterly made for each other.

They were still chuckling with the door to the media room opened and he heard the rapid clicking of the photographer’s cameras, even if at that point all they could see was an open door.  Derek listened for his new manager’s voice which fortunately was amplified through the microphone and PA system.

“It is my absolute pleasure to introduce our new captain, Derek Hale.”

Derek took a breath, plastered the expected smile on his face and swung round the door into the bright lights, million flashes and shouted questions of the assorted journalists.


	2. Scouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulham set up a session showing off their youth team.

“Scotty! _Scotty_!” Stiles grabbed a towel from a peg and launched it at his best friend’s head; a best friend who was being annoyingly oblivious.  “Earth to Scott…” He waved as the other boy looked up.  “What’s wrong with you dude? You’re like… a million miles away.”

Scott stood and walked over, the studs of his boots clacking on the tiles of the changing room floor as he did.  “Sorry Stiles… I just… this is home, you know? I know we got relegated but it’d be one season then we’d be back playing Premier.  Fulham’s where we started, bro. I don’t want to leave.”

Stiles grimaced, hating to be the one to bring Scott back down to Earth; they both felt the same way about the sport they loved – that loyalty to club seemed to be a thing of the past and that players seemed to have no loyalty, especially to teams that gave them their break.  “I know, I do. But… Championship? You won’t get picked for internationals? You won’t be playing top flight? It could set you back for years…”  Stiles never mentioned his own chances; he knew that of them both, Scott was the one set for stardom.  He was happy to get games at all.

“Maybe.” Scott said then seemed to brighten up, “Hey, maybe they’ll all hate me and I’ll get to stay.” He shoved Stiles towards the exit and slung an arm over his best friend’s shoulder.  “Let’s get this meat market over with.”  He grumbled and Stiles chuckled a little, knowing it would help relax Scott’s nerves.

“Come on, Coach put a lot of work into arranging this.  There’s like… a dozen scouts here to see you play.”

“See _us_ play, I’m one of many.” Scott corrected him, completely ignoring the fact that McCall was the name floating around the websites, sports columns and Twittersphere.  Even if he refused to acknowledge it, Stiles knew who they were to see.  With Scott having been on loan to a team in Scotland for six months, most English talent scouts hadn’t had a chance to see him up close. The fact that Fulham had arranged this showed just how willing they were to accept offers for their young star.  Clearly, they expected a lot of interest and a large chunk of money for him.

The two boys jogged out onto the practice pitch, twisting and stretching as they went.  Instinctively they fell in with their friends from the team, all of whom seemed nervous and desperate to please.  Stiles had to remind himself that, while everyone was there for Scott, he was right too, the scouts would all get a look at all the youth players; no doubt some were hoping to get snapped up.

As Stiles was stretching out his neck, something incongruous caught his eye and he did an obvious double take before ducking his head and making his way over to where Scott was doing keepy-uppies. “Scott!” Stiles hissed and beckoned his friend over.  “Spot me.” He said and dropped to a position to do sit-ups.  Scott, ever the good friend, stopped showing off and headed over to hold Stiles’ ankles.  “OK.” Stiles said, clipping off each pair of words on completing each sit up.” Look over.” Sit up. “My shoulder.” Sit up. “Subtly!” Sit up. “No! The.” Sit up. “Other shoulder.” Sit up. “Am I.” Sit up. “Wrong.” Sit up. “Or is that.” Sit up. “Derek Hale?”

“Huh?” Scott asked and Stiles sat up and stopped, refusing to go through all that again.  Instead he just looked at his friend with the most unimpressed look as he could muster.

“In the back.  Over my shoulder.  Tell me that the stubbly brooding guy _isn’t_ Derek Hale?”  Stiles demanded, watching Scott as he shifted his head and scanned the collected scouts.

“I don’t know, maybe.” Scott shrugged and then grinned a wicked grin, “Ohhhhhh, I remember now.” 

Stiles unimpressed look deepened to new depths. “Oh shut up Scott.” 

Scott quickly looked around to check no one was looking and clasped his hands together and pretended to swoon, “He’s so handsome.” His supposed friend mocked him and Stiles pushed him over, face cracking into a smile.

“Don’t be a dick. Come on, let’s go show off your epic skills.”

“Ok, crosses and corners?” Scott suggested and Stiles nodded, though ended up shaking his head a little.  He knew Scott would score in a number of ways on poor old Greenburg, their long-suffering youth keeper, but he also knew that he’d suggested it as it showed off Stiles own skills at placing the ball.

As much as he was pushing Scott to be happy about a possible move to a different team, Stiles was worried how he’d get on once Scott left.  He knew he played better with Scott, they always seemed to connect passes and crosses in a way Stiles struggled to replicate with other players, on the other hand, he was also a decent player; he wanted to believe he’d play in the Championship.  It was everything else he was worried about.

He knew the rest of the team found him odd and a bit distant, but Stiles couldn’t help that.  He just worried that if Scott left, ended up somewhere like Newcastle or Liverpool, Stiles would be alone again and lonely.  He scanned his teammates and saw no one who could take Scott’s place, no one he could trust with who he truly was.

Shaking his head and refocusing on the task in hand, he started launching cross after cross into the box, placing them for headers, volleys, quick touches and even one ridiculously dramatic overhead kick.  Both he and Scott had shared a laugh over that one, even across the pitch each knew what the other was thinking, which was confirmed when Stiles turned back to look at the scouts who were all whispering and looking their way.

“McCall!” Their coach boomed.  And Scott bounded over instantly, showing off his willingness to follow orders if nothing else.  Stiles watched as his friend was directed to the dribble course, clearly having been asked to show off a new skill by someone.  Feeling bereft, Stiles went back to the centre of the pitch and grabbed a bottle of water – he wasn’t thirsty but wanted something to do.

From his position he clearly saw Derek Hale nod decisively to the person next to him before standing and shuffling to the end of the row and back into the reception rooms of the stadium.  “Hey coach?!” He called and Tomas Oral turned to give him a distracted look. “Threw a stud.” Stiles pointed at one of his boots, “Can I…?” He shifted his pointing to the dressing room and started off at a trot as his coach nodded to him.

Getting into the tunnel, Stiles winced at the racket the studs made and dropped to get his boots off.   Quickly stowing them in his cubby, Stiles darted up the corridors and slipped into the supply cupboard he’d discovered a few years earlier.  At the time it had been a pure accident, but he and Scott had spent several tense afternoons in there eavesdropping on the manager’s office.  Reaching up, he slid the grate on the ventilation grill and voices instantly drifted down to him, the first being clearly American.

“I agree, he is impressive, but he’s small, would he be able to stand up to the punishment some of our more… aggressive opponents might dish out?”

Stiles smiled at Felix’s laugh, he’d only been their manager for a short time, but Stiles really liked him.  “Clearly Mr Hale, my friend, you don’t know how aggressive London derbies, or the Scottish Premiership can be… No, McCall can take a knock and keep on coming.”

There was a slight pause and Stiles wished he could work some way of seeing what was happening in the office but resigned himself to audio only. 

“OK, I’m sold.” The American voice said again and Stiles was certain he was hearing Derek Hale.  “But… at that price?”

“It’s a fair price, Mr Hale.”  Felix assured him and Stiles itched to know what he’d missed.

A new voice joined the conversation, presumably the Manchester United scout. “It’s a little higher than we wanted to pay, well, by at least half a million, if not a full million.” Stiles couldn’t help but grin, if it was _over_ by half a million it sounded like Scott was going to be going for a _lot_ of money.  “Can we not come to some arrangement?”

“I’m afraid not.  I know there will be other offers and this is the price we need… I know Liverpool are interested for example.”

Stiles heard Derek bark out a laugh, “Alright Mr Magath, no need to hard sell, he’s just a striker not the second coming.” Something about the way the new Manchester United captain said that set Stiles teeth on edge.  “Four million is all we have left in the budget though.” Stiles frowned.  Since announcing Hale’s captaincy earlier in the summer Manchester had only made a few more purchases; certainly not anywhere near what people expected.  Thinking it through, Stiles decided that either A) Hale was lying, B) he’d cost more than was reported or C) Glazier and the business which owned Manchester United hadn’t authorised as large a summer transfer budget as previous years.  “We don’t really want to trawl the free agents.” Derek said more to himself.

“How about…” Felix started and Stiles felt himself lean forward trying to hear better. “What about Stilinski _and_ McCall? The pair of them together are formidable and while I miss them both, as a pair they could be a useful extra gun for you?” Stiles felt his head spin and stomach lurch.  He was being discussed in a possible move to Manchester United.

“While one was Stilinski?” Hale asked, sounding off hand and dismissive, like he already didn’t like the idea.

“The one supplying all those beautiful crosses.” Felix supplied, sounding hopeful and Stiles held his breath.

“No.” Was all said Hale, but it was hard and decisive and Stiles’ misgivings about the American burst into a full-blown hatred.  While he wasn’t negligent of the fact he was being considered as an add-on, a bonus feature to signing Scott, he’d still be in the Manchester United squad.  It would be _huge_ for him.  It would make his career, earn him enough to take care of his Dad, sure he’d be loaned out by the end of the season, but his game would improve so much just by training and playing at that level.

“Really… But-” Felix started.

“I don’t want him in my squad.” Derek said, voice steely and unyielding.  Stiles hung his head.  Shame and embarrassment flooded through him. Rationally he knew that he shouldn’t be upset – he’d never expected to be thought of for a top-flight club.  However, in the brief seconds when he had been mentioned, Stiles brain had managed to work out an entire scenario where he and Scott got to move up together, share a flat again, go to work together, still be _bros_.  But in one word, Derek Hale had smashed that dream before it could even settle.

“It’s just they make such a successful pairing…” Felix persisted.

“No.” Derek repeated and the third voice chimed in.

“Let’s put a pin in Stilinski for now.  Look, we’ve registered our interest, we’ll have to speak to Louis, but if we could schedule McCall for a physical either today or tomorrow that would be best; I’m sure we can work out an amicable deal for all concerned.”

“Very well.” Felix said, sounding put out and Stiles’ heart went out to his gaffer.  Clearly the man knew how well he and Scott played together, but he seemed pretty invested in them as people too, knowing his players would fare better together.  “I’ll talk to our people and Scott’s agent and we can set up a conference call for tomorrow afternoon.  I take it you have a doctor in London?”  He sounded much more formal than he had at the beginning.

“Yes,” said the scout.  “We’ll be in contact, obviously not a word to…”

“Of course, of course.” Felix said and Stiles could imagine him waving the suggestion he’d talk to the press away like it was impossible.  In the dark of the closet Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes – as soon as the medical happened, _someone_ would leak something and the rumour mill would start flying.  He heard polite goodbyes and Felix starting to make phonecalls but Stiles just sunk to the ground and sat with his head in his hands.

Scott was going to Manchester.  Alone.  Without him. 

Those few glorious seconds in which Felix had suggested Stiles become part of the transfer package had settled into him and, he knew, would become the forever ‘What if…”.  Suddenly laughing at the irony of hiding in the closet now that he would be without his best friend, his only real friend, brought Stiles out of himself.

On leaden legs, Stiles remembered to go back to the changing rooms to put his boots back on before heading back out to the practice pitch.  Everyone was looking sweaty and tired, especially Scott who was running through the tire course, scouts looking on and taking notes.

“Stilinski!” A voice called and he startled before heading over to Tomas Oral, “Where have you been?” He asked, incredulous.  “Some of those scouts are here for you too you know…?” Stiles just shook his head, not that he didn’t know, just that he didn’t care.  Fulham in the Championship was just as good a place for him than any other random Premier League team; better maybe – at least he wouldn’t play _against_ Scott in the lower league.

“Sorry coach. Got distracted.”  He mumbled and Oral looked at him like he was insane.

“Well, get _un_ distracted.  Go do the dribble run then I want you to run passes with Solomon.” He said nodding to the large Gambian player, already rumoured to be in talks with Chelsea.  Stiles nodded and followed his orders, doing his best to work at the best of his ability, allowing the familiar training pattern lull him away from thinking about Scott, Manchester United and Derek Bastard Hale.

 

 

Stiles managed to keep his impromptu spying mission to himself until he and Scott got into their flat, by which point he felt fit to explode.

“We need to sit down.” He hurried his friend over to the sofa and deposited him on the plush cushions before sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “OK.  So.  Imagine a world,” Stiles ignored Scott’s eyeroll, “in which a footballing sneaky ninja managed to find some illicit news which was almost certain but not one hundred percent and impacted said ninja’s best friend… do you think best friend would want to know?”

Scott gave him an amused look, “What I’m hearing is that you hid in that cupboard by the gaffer’s office and overheard something…?”

Stiles bit his lip and bobbed his head up and down, “Uh huh. Something about you.”

“Me? What?” Scott asked, blinking in confusion.

“How can this be a shock to you…? The scouts, the news sites…” Stiles asked before plowing on. “Nevermind.  I heard a club note interest and ask for a medical and I heard what Felix asked for…?”

“Oh my God… an offer?” Scott stood up and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Stiles stood and followed him in his pacing .

“Uh-huh.” He agreed, chewing on a nail.

“Don’t do that,” Scott admonished him without breaking stride. “Do you know who it was, which club?”

“I do… do you want to know?” Stiles asked, tucking his thumbs into his fists and thrusting them into his pockets, hunching his shoulders slightly.

“Yes. No. Wait… Do I?” He genuinely asked his best friend, who shrugged, unwilling to make this decision for him. “Thanks, great help.” He went back to pacing then sat back down.  Stiles followed him and sat nervously next to Scott, who looked just as nervous.  “Right, go for it.”

“Manchester United.”

“No fucking way!” Scott cried, completely taken by surprise.

“Yep, I told you it was Derek Hale,” Stiles impressed himself at his ability to not spit the name of Scott’s new captain. “He said you were ‘impressive.”

“Holy shit.” Scott breathed and sat back.  “Really?” He asked Stiles who nodded.  “I need to phone Midas.” He said eventually, meaning the agency company who represented each of them in all their contract needs.  Stiles nodded again and tried for a smile.

“Well done Scotty, told you you’d be fine.” There must have been something in his voice which gave him away as his best friend’s eyes turned sad.

“Stiles… I…” Scott seemed at a loss so Stiles spoke for them both, as he did so often.

“I’ll be OK.  Tomas seemed to think some of the scouts might be interested in me, so maybe we’ll be against each other next year.” A grimace flew across Scott’s face, clearly he didn’t relish the idea either.  “Or I’ll stay at Fulham, hey, it’s home, I’ll be fine and we can still Skype and chat and see each other out of season.” His chest tightened at the thought of the enforced distance but kept his pain to himself.

“What about… you know…?” Scott asked and Stiles shrugged.

“I’ll be OK, you know, Dad knows, just having you both to talk to helped me over the worst, I’m fine now.  I doubt I’ll be telling anyone else, but don’t worry about it at all.” He said, knowing Scott would do just that.

“It’s not fair you know that right?”

“Yeah, I do… but…” He shrugged and changed the topic. “So… Man U, you’ll be a Red Devil.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Scott blew out a breath.

“Yeah… Man U, who’d of thunk it.”  He said with a smile which Stiles returned as Scott’s phone rang.  He held it up, showing Stiles their agent’s name and number and they shared a knowing smile. “Bobby, hi. How’s your day been…?” Scott asked smiling, clearly pleased at being one step ahead of his agent. “A medical you say, well, there’s a turn up for the books…” Stiles rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen, miming drinking a cup of tea, seeing if Scott wanted one, an offer accepted with a nod.

Once Stiles got into the kitchen he carefully clicked the door closed and went about making teas.  He tried to tell himself that the tears which flowed down his cheeks were tears of happiness for his friend. He tried to tell himself. But he knew better.


	3. Signing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott has some news and he isn't great at keeping secrets...

Stiles was kicking his legs and picking at the bowl of fruit on the breakfast counter, his Dad busying himself around his downcast son.  They spoken sporadically, each aware that their silence wasn’t normal, but both were too caught up in wondering how Scott’s meeting was going on to focus.  Without warning, a key slide into the front door and it opened smoothly – Scott had his own key to Stiles’ Dad’s house, just as Stiles had one for Scott’s Mum’s place.

“Well…?” Stiles’ Dad, Tom, asked Scott walked into through the door.

“You are looking at the newest signing for Manchester United.” He replied with a massive grin.  Crushing the slight pain in his chest, Stiles leapt up and hugged his friend tightly, both of them spinning in the confined space.  When Tom joined in, he knocked the three of them onto the sofa and then onto the floor. 

“Watch it! I’m worth millions!” Scott yelled laughing, drawing a chuckle from both the Stilinski’s at the most ludicrously un-Scott like comment. 

“Millions?” Tom asked, surprised in spite of himself; to him, this was still the kid who grew up with his son. He stood up and scrubbed a hand across his face.  “This calls for a celebration.” He muttered before tidying up the living room a little and Stiles’ heart broke a little.  His Dad was house-proud; he’d had always wanted more for his son, tried to give him the best, but they were still living in the same ex-council house they’d always lived in. 

It was a standard British two up, two down.  Two rooms upstairs, both bedrooms -though one was smaller than the other, allowing room for a bathroom - and two rooms downstairs a living room and a kitchen with a little cupboard under the stairs. Stiles vaguely remembered them talking about moving on just before his mother had taken ill.  The years that followed had been difficult for him and his Dad and, while Stiles had committed himself fully to football, his Father hadn’t had the same outlet.  He’d drank and drank and his job suffered; while he was cut some slack owing to his loss, he missed promotion after promotion and in the end resigned himself to being a community police officer, though Stiles doubted his Dad ever considered how loved he was in their community; what a difference he’d made.

Helping his Father straighten up, he clapped him on the back, sharing a sad smile.  Stiles knew that if he could manage a couple seasons at Fulham, especially if they got back into the Premiership he’d be able to pay off the mortgage, clear their debts and even move his Dad somewhere nicer, it would just take a little longer than Scott would in doing the same for his mother.  His friend followed them through into the kitchen where Tom handed them each a beer before opening one for himself.

“To Manchester.” Stiles’ Dad said and they all clinked bottles, Scott’s smile getting wider as he did.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” He said, almost rocking with happiness.  Stiles’ jealousy was swamped by his suspicion. He watched Scott carefully as his Dad started asking him questions.

“You’re happy then? It’s a good fit?”

“Yeah, I think so, they seemed really on board with… everything…” His best friend was definitely behaving oddly, more oddly than normal, well, except when there was a girl involved but they’d not been through Scott’s patented wistful sighing and pining phase recently, so Stiles knew something was up.

“When is it announced? Are we sworn to secrecy?” Tom added with a smile.

“Errrrr… yeah actually, and we might have to wait, it depends on… things…”

“OK. Spill.” Stiles said, squinting at his friend who did his best to look innocent around his smile.

“What? I have no idea what you are talking about?” Scott lied so unconvincingly that not even he could keep a straight face.  “Fine!” He clunked his beer down and shook his head while pulling his phone out with his other hand.  He held up a finger to shush Stiles’ question as he tapped on his smartphone.  “Hey, it’s me… you were right, less than five minutes!” Scott smiled at his friend who was glaring almost for real at that point.  “No, I’ve not told him yet.  No, honest… Sure.” Scott smiled and then handed his phone over to Stiles.

“Hello…?” Stiles asked and was surprised to hear his agent’s voice.  Really it was Scott’s agent, though all the Fulham youth squad had used the same team, and most had the same guy.

“Bobby?” Stiles asked confused.

“He’s not told you has he?” He asked, speaking as rapidly as ever. “Coz then, all bets are off!” He added, piling on yet more confusion.

“About his signing for Man U? Yeah, it’s great news.” 

“Oh my God.  He’s not.” Bobby slowed down. “I need you to sit down for a second.” Heat flashed through him and Stiles imagined the worst; he was being let go, he wouldn’t be playing next season unless someone picked him up as a free agent.  Swallowing, he sat back on the stool and avoided eye contact with either his Dad or Scott.

“OK.”  he muttered, screwing his eyes shut and trying to brace himself.

“You need to come down to Craven Cottage for a medical.” Stiles could hear the smile in his agent’s voice, but couldn’t fathom it’s cause; why would he need a medical if he was being let go?

“What…? Why?”

“Well, Louis van Gaal isn’t about to take you on the basis that I promised you were fit to play!” Bobby yelled with glee and Stiles found himself rising up off his seat.  He turned to his friend, a thousand questions dancing in his eyes, but found his gaze swinging to his Dad. 

“Say again?” Stiles asked, desperate not to have mis-heard.  His father was standing stock still and looked decidedly worried.  As they stared at each other, Scott moved to Tom’s side and gripped his upper-arm, offering support.

“Louis van Gaal wants you, Stiles Stilinski to complete a medical to confirm your fitness before your transfer to Manchester United.” Bobby spoke slowly but Stiles’ vision span and he could feel his head start to loll.  Both Scott and his Dad rushed in to support him, but instead they all ended up sitting on the floor.

“Manchester?” Stiles asked, head still ringing.

“Manchester?” He heard his Father ask Scott who nodded.

“Yes!” Bobby barked happily.

“But… but… Hale said no.” Stiles said, brain beginning to kick in again.

“What? Hale wasn’t even there? What? Look kid… This was Felix and Louis.  Your gaffer brought it up almost instantly, talking about you and McCall as a golden pair – his words not mine.” Stiles huffed a laugh, noting the slight edge of hysteria which was edging in now that he was taking it all in.  “Louis thought it sounded like a good idea from there it was all just negotiation… Look, Stiles… they want to announce Scott’s signing as soon as possible, and you too, so I took the liberty of arranging an offer on your behalf – we’ll be able to make some changes after the physical if you want, but the gist is a transfer fee of five hundred K and a weekly salary of ten thousand.”

Stiles was struck utterly dumb. “Fuck.” He eventually managed to eek out.

“I know, bud, and, not for nothing the vast majority of that comes from Scott’s fee – as soon as he found out that you were a possibility he demanded we drop his fee, and salary if it would help you get signed.  That’s one hell of a friend you got there.” Stiles’ tear filled eyes looked up at his best friend and saw the other boy look away embarrassed.

“What did you do?” He asked breathlessly.

Scott shrugged uncomfortably. “You’d have done the same.” Scott grumbled and pretended to be fascinated by the sole of his shoe.

“What he did was give up a huge chunk of his fee, meaning he’s been sold for less than he’d worth so you can play Premier League next season.” Bobby said in Stiles’ ear.

“Ten thousand?” He asked and he heard Tom’s intake of breath.

“A week, yes.  Look, can you get down to Craven today or what? It’d look good if you could, and I could tell the Man U docs to wait.”

“Yes!” Stiles said, quickly disentangling himself.  “Yes, I’ll be there, soon, an hour? Is that OK? Is van Gaal still there? Can I talk to him?”

“van Gaal’s not here you dumbass.” Bobby said fondly.  “But, pass the physical and I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you immediately.”

“Great, are you there?”

“Yep, here, with contracts and pens and everything Stilinski, see you in an hour.”  He hung up and Stiles turned, shivering slightly to his best friend who was smiling, but looking nervous and his Dad who was as white as a sheet.

“Scott.”

“Don’t.” His friend said. “Once they started talking millions it all just sounded stupid, and they offered me forty thousand a week, forty?!” Scott shook his head.  “So, I said I’d take thirty if they used the other ten for you?” He shrugged like it was nothing.  Like changing the course of Stiles’ life was a thing that he could do every day. “Then Bobby started talking signing fees and transfer costs and I lost track a little. I hope it’s OK?” Bizarrely, he looked genuinely worried.

“OK? It’s fucking brilliant!” Stiles shouted, ducking the clip his Dad tried to give him for swearing and flying into a hug with his best friend.

“Put me down!” Scott yelled, laughing as he was spun around the tiny Stilinski kitchen.  When he did Stiles turned to his Dad.

“I’m being signed for Manchester United.”  He said, voice full of incredulity.

“I gathered.” Tom said, throwing his arms wide. “Come ‘ere.” Stiles stepped into his Father’s embrace.  “Proud of you son.” He said, kissing the top of his son’s head.  “Though I’m not sure how I feel about supporting Man U…?” Stiles pushed at his Dad, knowing the older man was joking; he’d support any team his son played for.

“I’ve gotta go…” Stiles said, eyes and hands beginning to flit, searching for what he needed. 

“I’ll drive you.” Scott said, “I want to see Felix again anyway, say thanks.” Scott said, pulling his keys out of his pocket.  Stiles nodded and bolted to the stairs to grab the spare clothes and boots he always had at his Dad’s house.  As he turned to go up the stairs he saw his Dad pull Scott into a fierce hug; fighting back more tears, Stiles took the stairs two at a time and tried to hold back a giggle of glee; he had a future again. 

A future; in Manchester; with his best friend; playing top flight football. 

Shaking his head at the bizarre nature of the universe, Stiles smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed some things after some truly horrible individuals were truly horrible. I've written most of this fiction so it'll get finished, but then I think I'm done with this fandom... which is a shame. But, yeah... [shrugs]


	4. Response

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interwebs react to the new Manchester United signings.

# BBC Sport: Football

# Gossip column: Balotelli, McCall, Stilinski Hummels, Whittemore

For a list of confirmed transfers, check out the [transfers page.](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/transfers/)

Visit our [manager ins and outs page](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/27656795) for a list of all the current bosses in the top five leagues in England and the Scottish Premiership.

## TRANSFER GOSSIP

 

AC Milan's Mario Balotelli could be available for £14m – **Sunday Times**

**Liverpool manager Brendan Rodgers is interested in signing AC Milan striker Mario Balotelli, with £14m thought to be enough to secure a deal for the 23-year-old Italy international.** [ **Sunday Express** ](http://www.express.co.uk/sport/football/494825/I-m-a-Mario-fan-Brendan-Rodgers-confirms-Liverpool-want-Balotelli)

Manchester United announced three new signings – Scott McCall, Genim Stilinski and Jackson Whittemore - McCall sure, but are Stilinski and Whittemore ready for the first team? **Sunday Mail**

 

Spurs were reportedly ready to offer five million for McCall, so why did he go to Manchester? **Guardian**

 

 **Biggest Surprise –** How does Stilinski fit into Manchester United? **Sunday Mirror**

 

Manchester United forced to pull out of the race to sign Borussia Dortmund and Germany defender Mats Hummels, 25, for £30m after American backers demand less spending. [ **Sunday Mirror**](http://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/transfer-news/arsenal-vs-manchester-united-transfer-3954490)

 

Massive weekend for transfer news – feels like all the top flight teams announced signings. Let us know your opinions. Contact us on Facebook, Twitter and through the BBC website.  


_12:00 Chris Forest (for BBC Sport):_

Good afternoon sports fans! Chris here to talk through the mammoth amount of signings we’ve had and sift the gossip from the rumour from the truth. So… Manchester United woke up and added three young stars to their team? What do you think?

Also, Liverpool and Man City seemed to have raided the US teams – what do you make of their signings? Couple of surprises there, non? Vernon Boyd? Anyone? Anyone?!

_12:10 Redordead_

van Gaal’s got some good talent there needs to sort out that Whittemore boy – he’s on the catwalk more than the pitch – models aint footballers, we don’t need his sort at Old Trafford.

_12:12 Chris Forest_

Interesting… Beckham, Henri, Ljungberg, Ronaldo – all modeled underwear and been on magazines.  Aren’t footballers allowed to be models in the off season? So long as it fits round their training?

_12:15 Redordead_

You know what I mean – he’s not like them he’s… you know…

_12:16 Chris Forest_

I don’t think I do, but if it’s something you can’t type I’d suggest we move on.

_12:18 Mike from Manchester_

I think McCall and Stilinski could be good so long as Hale can fold them into team effectively.  Stilinski is quicker and more scrappy than Hale’s midfielders at Galaxy, will be interesting to see how they play together.

_12:20 Chris Forest_

Speaking of Hale’s colleagues, how do we think he’ll do facing up to Vernon Boyd who’s going to Man City? I didn’t really know him, and he didn’t feature in the World Cup, but his defensive record looks sound and it’ll certainly give City a strong back line.

_12:24 Sarah B._

I’d think everyone should watch out for Ennis going to Liverpool – they get rid of one thug (Suaraz and his biting!) and replace him with the most red carded player in America? Whats the logic?

_12:30 ToffeeBlue_

Plus Liverpool took those Twins – one of them is a bit free with the elbows too!

_12:32 FootballFocus (bbc)_

BREAKING NEWS! Matt Daehler has been picked up as a free agent by Manchester United. 

_12:34 Chris Forest_

That makes four young players for van Gaal and Hale to mould as they wish.  So Daehler in defense, Stilinski and Hale in midfield, McCall and Whittemore up front? Who will they be replacing? I can’t see Rooney or Van Persie stepping aside?

_12:41 Jake S_

I know the idea was for Man U to get new blood, but SOME experience would be good! Three players from two teams who have been relegated?! Bad mojo I’m warning you…

_12:43 Chris Forest_

Ah but what about Whittemore, he’s been great for Chelsea though they have more strikers than they know what to do with now, just bad timing for him maybe…?

_12:44 Josh H_

Yeah, and the public falling out with Jose didn’t help… one word for Whittemore – EGO!

_12:45 Chris Forest_

  1.   But McCall wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet after the U-19 win over Germany? Or in Glasgow for Celtic?



_12:52 Nathan B_

Yeah – but he was just being young and happy – Whittemore was telling _Jose Mourinho_ that he was wrong for not playing him… wanker!

_12:53 Chris Forest_

  1.    Language!
  2.    So –any thoughts about Daehler?



_12:55 Dave B_

You warn us about language and bring up that guy? Manchester United should be ashamed.

_12:57 Chris Forest_

All charges dropped – woman settled out of court, gags everywhere – we’ll never really know what happened – I’m sure he’s just happy to get a game again.

_13:00 Sophie R_

Whatever! Daehler is yet another footballer who got away with assaulting a young woman!

_13:01 Joey B_

Come on… you don’t know that – she could have just been out for the money!

_13:01 ToffeeBlue_

Joey B? The real Joey B, coz that much ignorance and stupidity sounds like it!

_13:02 Chris Forest_

OK – off topic there… what about the rumours surrounding Hale and van Gaal arguing already? Trouble in paradise already?

_13:04 Leo E_

Maybe – heard it was over the signings? Hale apparently not happy? Dunno why?

_13:13 Chris Forest_

Well… we’ll have to see what happens with the preseason friendlies…


	5. Suits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles go shopping and meet some new people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have new people! And new relationship tags...! :-D

Stiles was aware of a couple of the glances they got, well… that Scott got, but no one approached them.  Looking over at his friend, currently walking through the moderately hot, but definitely cloudy, day in a beanie and large, dark sunglasses he had to admit he looked a little odd.  Stiles wasn’t sure if he was being checked out because Manchurians had recognised him, or they just thought that he looked like an idiot.

“You look stupid, you know that right?”  Stiles said, surreptitiously checking his Google Maps to ensure they were still heading in the right direction.

“Weren’t you listening? We were told to try and be inconspicuous if we go out in town.” Scott said, ever the Boy Scout.  They’d had a briefing at Old Trafford with the other new players the day before on the ins and outs of being a Man United player in Manchester.  Essentially it was all just common sense: try not to make a scene; don’t go anywhere you don’t know or looks dodgy; if you are spotted remember that you represent the brand and be polite; don’t get riled by Man City fans and do not talk to the press – ever, unless it was arranged through the press office.  That point was repeated a fair few times… they were all being trusted with their own Twitter accounts for the time being but had to sit through a seminar on appropriate and inappropriate topics of conversation.  Marin, their handler, was insistent that if they weren’t sure about anything that they should contact her. 

Stiles had received brownie points that morning when he’d called to ask if he and Scott were allowed to go to the bespoke tailor Allison had recommended to them for new suits.  Marin had seemed happy they’d asked and suggested they go early to avoid crowds though reminded them to be as unremarkable as possible.

“I really don’t think that dressing like that makes you _un_ noticeable Scotty, you’re the only one with shades that big, you might as well wear a sign saying ‘Notice me!’.” Stiles crowed though he couldn’t figure out Scott’s feelings behind his massive sunglasses.

“Whatever.” Scott said. “Are we close?”  He hated shopping and it was only the double pronged attack from Allison and Stiles which had prompted him out; the pressure of ex-girlfriend and best friend being too much to bear.

“Not far.” Stiles said.  “So… how did Allison sound?” 

“Fine, good. She’s going to come up for the party, just as friends.” He said and Stiles did his best to not show any reaction to that declaration.  “What?!” Scott cried, punching his friend on the arm.

“I didn’t say anything!” He protested.

“Exactly! You never don’t say anything.”

Stiles glared at the other boy: “Look, it’s not my business, you were together, you broke up, you were together, you broke up, you were together, you broke up, you were together, you broke up, you were together, you broke up-“

“OK! I get the point!” Scott laughed and Stiles smiled.

“I just think… since you became friends you’ve both been happier.  Plus…  she’s in London, you’re up here? Didn’t you break up properly last time because you couldn’t make Glasgow and London work?”

“This is nearer.” Scott mumbled grumpily. “Oh I don’t know… maybe you’re right… but, it’s _Allison_ , you know? She’s my first love and it’s so easy…”

“But it never works… you’re too… I don’t know…” Stiles admitted.  Actually he never really understood why they didn’t work out but they always ended up fighting and breaking up.  Maybe it was because they were both so driven in what they did.  Allison had only just missed out on being selected for the 2012 Olympic archery team and it had really lit a fire under her to be selected for 2016 in Rio.  With his training, her training and their general obsessions with their respective sports, maybe there was just no more room for anything else.

Stiles’ phone vibrated in his hand indicating they’d arrived and he looked around before spotting the refined store front on the other side of the road. “There.” He said pointing the way.  It was clearly a well-established traditional tailor and one that had been there for years.  It had none of the glaring bright lights of high-street shops but the suits on display looked immaculate.  “Where’d she hear about this place anyway?”

“From her Mum, the guy that owns it is an old friend.” Scott said as he opened the door.  Stiles smiled at the old fashioned sounding bell which clattered as the door struck it.  Before the ringing had stopped an incredibly well presented young man appeared from a side door.  He was tall and had curly, dark blonde hair, styled to the point of looking effortlessly unstyled. Stiles had to admire the languid grace the young man displayed as he swayed towards them

“Good morning gentleman, can I help with something today?” He asked in polite tones.  Stiles took in the sharp, elegent cut of this boy’s suit and his and Scott’s sweatpants and hoodies and came to the conclusion that the assistant probably assumed they were timewasters.

“We’re looking to get a couple of suits, each, if possible.” Scott said, pulling off his beanie and removing his shades.

The taller boy gave him a measuring glance then leaned forward slightly, “I can see why you keep those things under guard, you have the most amazing eyes.”  Stiles grinned at the obvious flirtation, but was surprised to see Scott blush a little and duck his head before taking a short step back. “I’m sorry,” The assistant continued, “that was inappropriate, but… really… Have you seen them?” He asked of Stiles with a grin which the other boy instantly returned.

“Yep, I’m immune though - we really are after new suits...” He ended with a hopeful shrug.

“Of course. Did you have a cut, or style in mind?” At this Stiles shared a slightly panicked glance with Scott who shrugged and shook his head.  “What’s the occasion? Wedding? Funeral…?”

“Oh, we’re starting a new job and the company is having a kind of welcome get together so we can meet everyone.” Stiles supplied, keeping the details kind of vague.

“So, you are looking to impress your new boss?” The tall boy asked and nodded thoughtful as he started obviously looking them over.

“And everyone else, yes, but nothing too flashy… simple, understated.” He tried, hoping it sounded plausible. “To be honest, we’ve just moved up and normally my friend’s ex would choose all our clothes, she had a very definite sense of what we should wear… I just don’t think it rubbed off on us.” Stiles admitted, trying for another smile.  Because he was watching for it, he caught the slight deflation when he mentioned Scott’s ex was a she, but the assistant was clearly a professional and plowed on regardless.

“I see… well… well, we have plenty of suits and styles which should easily fit. Hopefully we can provide you with something she’d approve of?” He moved back to the counter and slapped at the bell there, sending out a resounding ‘ting’ which brought another suited and handsome young man out from the back room.  This one took only one step into the shop area though before his jaw hit the floor and he did a pair of double takes.

“Holy shit.” He breathed, then flushed beetroot red when he realised he’d spoken out loud. “Sorry, I’m sorry.  Welcome, please come through.”  He said and beckoned Scott and Stiles through to the back room.  Stiles smiled at the still embarrassed young man, probably the same age as him, as he walked past into a plush, thickly carpeted room.

It had two small boxes, almost stages, at one end and a large circular couch in the centre of the room.  On the opposite side of the room from the boxes were too wicker doors, clearly leading into changing rooms.  Every other available inch of wall space was dedicated to materials, ties, shoes and shirts.  Stiles was taken aback slightly by all the opulence, and even made a small noise of appreciation despite himself, whereas Scott, who was used to Allison taking him suit shopping, merely nodded appreciatively.

“No way!” Stiles heard from the doorway then the two young men came through, the taller one now as beetroot as the other boy had been. 

“Gentlemen, what can we do for you today?” He asked smoothly and smiled, displaying a dimpled grin which did peculiar things to Stiles’ insides.  Frowning he shook his head trying to clear it.

“As we were saying…” Scott said, “we need a couple of suits, for work functions.  Actually, we’ll probably need more than that but we need one, each, kind of soon?”

“Are we talking bespoke, or would you be looking for us to tailor a pre-made suit.”

“Bespoke.” Scott said.  Allison had drilled into him that suits needed to _fit._ Not just fit, but fit well.

“How soon were you thinking sir?” The second boy asked.

“It’s in two weeks?” Scott said, grimacing slightly; they all knew very well that bespoke suits traditionally took significantly longer than that, which is why Stiles had wanted to get this shopping trip in as soon as he’d heard of the function.  It was to be the unveiling of all the new signings; all the press were invited and they’d been informed they’d be expected to be on hand for interviews as required. 

“I… see…” Young man number two said.

“I know it’d be a rush, but Victoria Argent said this was the best place for suits outside London?” Scott said, sounding apologetic.

“You know Victoria Arg-“ He stopped and shook his head. “Of course, you were dating Alli.”

“Do you know Allison?” Scott asked instantly.

The boy nodded.  “Yes, her Mum and my Dad are old friends – we used to play together when we were small.  I remember seeing her in the paper with you and I followed her archery.  I’m Danny, Danny Mahealani .”  Scott took a couple of steps forward and shook his hand.

“Scott McCall, nice to meet you.” 

Stiles stepped forward and shook Danny’s hand too: “I’m Stiles.” He said, voice wobbling slightly.

“Nice to meet you both.  This is Isaac.” He said to the boy behind him who was still blushing and not meeting their eyes.

“Nice to meet you.” Scott said over Danny’s shoulder. “So… this is your tailors?” He asked.

“My father’s but yes, I’m taking over a lot of the work, well… we are…?” He said, nodding back at his embarrassed colleague.

“Fantastic… well… what do you think… is two weeks possible?” Scott asked again.

“I’m sure we can manage that, you may have to come back for a couple of fittings, if that’s OK?” Both Scott and Stiles nodded and Danny clapped his hands together once before talking them through cuts and materials.  Within a few minutes, Allison had been called and was placed on speaker phone on a desk while Stiles was directed to take pictures of things to send to her.  She’d been delighted to talk to Danny and had made plans to see him when she came up for the party.  As ever, Allison started to order Stiles around without a second thought – he was asked to take pictures of material and clothes to send her so she could judge them. 

Then, off hand, she asked for a picture of Danny, so she could see how he ‘turned out’ so Stiles had to ask the other boy to poise for a picture.  He felt oddly nervous doing so despite Danny’s acceptance and smile.  After sending, he showed the other boy a picture of Allison and both agreed the other looked a lot better than they had when they were seven.  When he was showing Danny the pictures, the other boy had placed his warm, calloused hand over Stiles’ to tilt the phone so he could see better.

It made Stiles think.  It had been a long time since someone, a guy, had touched his hand.  Before the thought could take hold though, Danny moved away and pulled out another roll of cloth.  Shaking his head, Stiles refocused at the task at hand.

They eventually settled on a style that they liked and could be made in the time, though both Scott and Stiles had bookmarked other suits to be ordered later.  Then they came to be measured.  Danny considered them for a moment and asked Isaac to take Scott while he worked with Stiles.  They’d all stopped still though as Scott started stripping off his clothes, down to his boxers.  Isaac went red again and clearly didn’t know where to look.

“What are you doing?” Stiles eventually asked around a laugh.

“What? They need measurements…” He said, rolling his shoulders, showing off his impressive physique.

“Errrr…” Was as far as Danny got.

“Allison said that she had to measure me like this, otherwise whatever I was wearing would make the measurements wrong… That’s not true is it?” He said and all three of the other boys shook their heads, each holding back a laugh.  “Oh my God.” He quickly picked up his T-shirt and slipped it back on. “Not a word of this to anyone Stilinski!” He glared over.

“Moi? As if I would tell anyone?” He tried his best to sound innocent while pulling his phone out and texting Allison exactly what had just happened.

“Are you texting!? Who are you texting?!” Scott demanded and Stiles just laughed, shaking his head.  “Sorry guys.” He said to Danny and Isaac, neither of whom seemed particularly upset.

“It’s OK.  It’s not every day that Premier League footballers strip off in the dressing room.” Danny smiled and winked at Stiles who, once again, felt his insides squirm pleasantly. Having confirmed that Danny, and he guessed Isaac knew who they were, they were free to talk about the party and the move.  Despite conversation flowing freely, there were a couple of awkward moments.

The first came when Isaac moved to take Scott’s measurement and he tried to apologise for flirting when the boys had come in.  “Look.” He’d started, clearly nervous, “about earlier, what I said, I’m sorry, if I’d known…” He trailed off.

“What? My eyes wouldn’t have been as nice?” Scott teased and Isaac winced.  “It’s OK, I was just surprised, believe it or not, I don’t get a lot of compliments and I don’t think I’ve ever had one like that from a guy.”

“Sorry.” Isaac had murmured.

“Don’t be, I don’t care… in fact,” He shared a wink with Stiles, “one of my best friends is gay, makes no difference to me, I don’t even know what you’re apologising for…”

Isaac shrugged, “I don’t know, I’ve just had bother with footballers before, they weren’t happy that a friend of mine had hit on one of them and it got a bit physical…” He shuddered and Scott reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“Sorry mate, that sucks…” Isaac looked up surprised and seemed to get lost for a second in Scott’s eyes. “So, it’s no big, honest… how about this suit then?” He asked and Isaac had nodded, grateful to be able to get back to work.

Stiles and Danny had watched the entire exchange and Danny whispered into Stiles ear as he was taking his chest measurement. “He’s a good guy, your friend.”

“He really is.” Stiles whispered back.

“Can’t head a ball for toffee like.” Danny added and Stiles had barked a laugh.

“Please tell me you aren’t a Man City fan?” 

“Naah, Chelsea, I was born and raised in London, never transferred allegiance when I moved up.”  At that Danny had squatted down and ran the tape measure up the inside of Stiles leg.  This had led to the second awkward moment, though it was one which was only noticeable to Stiles, and not one he could really articulate.  However, the sight of Danny, crouching in front of him, sliding a hand up his leg instantly became imprinted on his mind.

Fortunately, rather than figure out what that meant, he was able to listen in as Scott had heard that Danny supported Chelsea and they’d fallen into an easy chat about teams and transfers and hopes for the season.   After the measurements were done and material selected Danny and Isaac walked them back to the front of the shop to see them out.

“So, do you two have training now or big plans around Manchester?”  Danny asked and Scott laughed.

“No. We’re still on down time, we were given a couple of weeks to get settled and complete Man U orientation but we kind of are already sorted in our flat so we’ll probably just hit the gym then Call of Duty?” He asked Stiles who nodded, for once with nothing to add.

“Well… if you wanted to… I’m having some friends round tonight? Nothing big, just a few people for drinks if you fancied joining us?” He asked and there was an odd silence.

“Sure, we’d love to.”  Scott agreed for them. “I’ll have to check with our club liaison, but I’m sure she won’t mind, I’ll just big up how close you and Allison are, there won’t be any press there right?”

“No.” Danny laughed, “it’s just friends, mainly friends from school but yeah… I’ll weed out the Man City fans for you guys, don’t worry. Stiles? I’ll see you there too?” He asked and looked him straight in the eye.

“You bet.” He managed to eek out and then they were out into the morning sun.  After they were a few feet away, Stiles turned to Scott and said, as nonchalantly as possible.  “They seemed nice, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh.” Scott had a peculiar smile on his face and didn’t meet his friend’s look.

“What?” He asked and the other boy laughed.

“Nothing Stiles, nothing at all.” Stiles gave him a sideways look and muttered under his breath as they walked back towards their car, Scott chuckling every now and again as they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it... 
> 
> G*


	6. Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles settle into their new lives.

The gathering they had been invited to turned out to been quieter than Stiles expected.  Isaac, at a point when their host was out of the room, explained that Danny had de-invited some of his more wild friends whom he didn’t think the two new boys would get on with.  In the end they’d met four new people, over and above Danny and Isaac.

All of them clearly had no idea what to make of the two footballers and at first conversation had been stilted and awkward as everyone tried to talk football, something that only Danny and to a lesser extent Mason were able to do.  That lasted until Caitlyn, part of the only couple present with her girlfriend Emily, made an offhand comment on some esoteric point in Star Wars which Stiles leapt on and riffed off.  With the geek-gates opened, Stiles found himself in an incredibly enjoyable discussion of the untimely demise of Firefly.

Scott, who’d never really enjoyed all the many, many shows his best friend made him watch managed to convince Tucker and Isaac into a Fifa ’14 tournament.  Danny, clearly an excellent host to Stiles mind, floated between each group, ensuring everyone was topped up with drinks and happy. And Stiles was… it was the first time in a long time he had been in a group of people not involved in football in some way.

“Wait…! So… Are you all gay?!” Scott suddenly asked to generally amusement.

Danny answered for everyone: “Not really…Mason and I are, Emily’s a lesbian and Isaac and Caitlyn are bi, and Tucker is…?”

“Undecided, experimenting though….” Said the young, blonde, broad-shouldered man without looking up from the game where he was taking advantage of the fact that Scott was distracted.

“That’s not a problem is it?” Danny asked and Scott shook his head vigorously.

“No, not at all.”  He said.  “So… how do you all know each other?” He asked and Danny launched into a long-winded, convoluted story which Stiles only vaguely followed. Instead, he found himself looking around the room, studying everyone.  Suddenly, it struck him that Scott was the only straight person in the room.  Quickly following that thought was one that no one, other than his best friend, knew that.  To everyone else, both of the newcomers were straight. 

A part of him started trying to walk through what would happen if he was to just admit being gay.  It’s not like he thought any of them would care...  But then... that was six people he didn’t know all that well with his secret and that secret was the thing that he had to protect at all costs.  Still, he could imagine...

He would say it and everyone would be shocked, and surprised and there would be hugs.  Scott would look on all proud and promise to protect him, not that he’d need protecting.  He thought Isaac would probably blush and look away, which seemed to be his thing.  Emily and Caitlyn would probably pepper him with questions.  He didn’t really have a handle on Mason or Tucker so couldn’t decide what they’d do, but Danny... he kept coming back to what Danny would do.  Mostly he thought the other boy would smile, maybe hug him. Maybe he’d hold Stiles and tell him it was all alright and everything would be fine.  As he was lost in his little dreamworld Stiles missed the question Caitlyn directed at him.

“Huh, sorry, what?” He asked the girl sitting opposite him.

“I just asked if you were seeing anyone? Someone back in London?” She asked and Stiles noticed she hadn’t used a pronoun.

“No. No one, I was seeing someone but it ended a while ago.” He said and wondered if he should elaborate and try and drop the word ‘she’ in, though in truth his one and only ex was a definite ‘he’. 

“That’s sad.” Caitlyn said, though Stiles caught the knowing smile she directed at Danny who rolled his eyes.  Stiles squinted and tried to work through what that might mean.

“It’s no big.” He offered into the silence, trying to cover his frown.  “With football and training, there’s not a lot of time for relationships… just ask Scott.” He said, hoping to get the attention off him. His best friend took the hint and started explaining his and Allison’s on and off again relationship, though he seemed oblivious to how Isaac reacted; choosing that moment to clear some dishes from the tables and head to the kitchen.

Stiles wasn’t listening either.  He was too intrigued by what Caitlyn had said, or at least hinted at.  Firstly she’d asked a deliberately vague question, which Stiles had deliberately vaguely answered then she’d responded not to him but to Danny, did she think he was interested in Stiles?  He hadn’t shown any interest, he’d just been friendly and polite, exactly as he’d been with Scott.  But then… he thought Stiles was straight.  It was an easy assumption to make, there were, after all, no openly gay or bi football players, let alone one in the Premier League.

Stiles knew the roots in that stemmed from the tragic story of Justin Fashanu.  He’d been the first Black player in Britain to be signed for one million pounds and was famous as he played for a variety of clubs throughout the eighties, though he never really reached his expected potential.  He’d had a rough time of it in the press when the Sun, a tabloid rag, had forced him to come out in 1990.  It hadn’t been his choice and he’d eventually moved to America, unable to cope with the intense focus from the UK newspapers.  Had that been the end of it, Stiles thought that maybe someone else may have come out, but Fashanu had been accused of sexual abuse in 1998 and had returned to England to commit suicide. 

When that happened it seemed to cement itself in the lifeblood of Britain that a footballer could not come out, lest what happen to Justin Fashanu happen to him.  Then, in 2013, Robbie Rogers had come out after leaving Leeds United, declaring himself retired, despite his relative youth.  Instead of being vilified, he was lauded and eventually signed for LA Galaxy.  While not playing Premier League football in the UK, it was still an out gay man playing top flight football.

Stiles had waited with baited breath for the tide of gay football players to follow Rogers example and come out, sure that if a lot did, he might... but none did.  There were rumours of some player or other thinking about it every now and again, but it was never concrete and never followed through, though it let pundits and hacks weigh in with their two cents.  All of them seemed to agree that no player could come out while playing; it would be too much of a distraction, too complicated.  They also raised the issue of the football chants.  Supporting crowds could shout, and sing, some pretty vulgar things at the opposing team without knowing one was gay; opinion leaders asked if any sane player would want to be the first to endure the inevitable abuse.  Stiles, as he was sure other closeted players did, read all those articles and quietly clicked the closet door closed again; he’d told his Dad and his best friend and for him, that had been enough.

But there he was, sitting in a modest yet stylish flat, with a group of people he’d just met, considering coming out.  What did that mean for him? Did he feel that he could? He was hardly a household name, and national treasure, like Tom Daley.  Nor was he at the high end of the footballing world – he’d never been called up for an international and everyone had been surprised when he’d been taken by Manchester United.  For him, Stiles honestly believed the best thing he could do was keep his head down, try not to become fixated on the gay thing and get what he could from his chosen career.  If there was a need, he might come out after he retired, if anyone was interested, though... picking at his nails, trying to ignore the room full of friends he was making, he couldn’t imagine anyone would be.

Suddenly, Scott announced that it was late and they had to be up for the gym in the morning, which was true – they were meeting Matt and Jackson for a training session.  Stiles groaned at the thought.  He wasn’t completely enamoured with his two new teammates.  Jackson was a self-righteous, narcissist and Matt was… well, there was all the stories out of Cardiff and while Stiles knew that all the charges had been dropped, the more he got to know the other boy, the likelier it seemed some of them were true.

Before leaving, Scott and Stiles swapped numbers with everyone with Mason snapping a few pictures to match names to faces; he even managed to convince Scott to take one with Isaac.  Ever the good guy, Scott slung his arm around the other boy’s waist and grinned into the camera.  Isaac looked blissfully happy for a second then heart-wrenchingly sad when Scott moved away;  Stiles made a mental note to talk to Scott about the obvious torch was Isaac was carrying, and soon.

The next week went quickly, despite being told they were able to take some downtime, Scott and Stiles were in Old Trafford most days, mainly meeting trainers, physiotherapists, PR people, brand advisors, dieticians and lastly the other players.  Scott was better at Stiles at not being too starstruck, thought they both went slightly tongue-tied when the met Robin Van Persie.  Stiles had expected to feel awestruck meeting Wayne Rooney but the older man had been clearly unimpressed with the new signings and had been almost rude to them. 

Meeting Derek Hale had been an odd experience.  Stiles knew, from having listened in on the conversation his new captain had had with his old manager that Hale didn’t want him in the Manchester squad, and yet... there he was.  Stiles could only imagine that Louis van Gaal either over-rid his captain or just didn’t know about Derek’s objections, either way, it made the meeting awkward from his point of view.  Scott, who knew nothing, was eager and friendly when he met his new captain, chatting effortlessly about everything and nothing. 

Derek, in turn, seemed to be amused by Scott’s enthusiasm, almost as a big brother would be.  Beyond greeting Stiles and shaking his hand, the older man pretty much ignored him.  He was focused entirely on Scott and their conversation became more and more exclusive.  Eventually, Stiles mumbled something about asking Marin a question and walked away, not that either particularly noticed.  When Scott caught up with his friend again he was buzzing with excitement over how cool Derek Hale was.  When Stiles tried to point out how much he, himself, had been blanked, Scott had blinked as if trying to remember, then dismissed it with a wave, saying Stiles just had to get to know him.

As they got into the Manchester United training regime – just the gym work; they still weren’t attending full training sessions until van Gaal got their measure – the days took on a welcome monotony.  It was almost like being at Fulham, all Stiles had to worry about was his fitness and Man U, like Fulham, wanted him to try and bulk up a little so he had a solid weight training regime as well.  With something to focus on he found it easier to push thoughts of coming out out of his mind, though Danny did feature in his thoughts more than Stiles expected.

The tailor called Stiles on the Friday morning, asking if he and Scott could come in for the first check on how the suits were fitting.  When they got there, though, it was Danny’s father who was checking them.  His son and Isaac weren’t working so they were professionally and dispassionately measured, marked and thanked before being sent on their way. Without thinking too much about it, Stiles sent a text to Danny saying he was sorry to have missed him.

As soon as he hit send he frowned at the phone – for some reason the text made him nervous.  He worried that it was wrong, too forward, too open, that Danny would read too much into it, though what exactly he could read wasn’t something Stiles could say.  His worrying stopped when the boy replied almost instantly saying he was sorry too and asking if they, meaning he and Scott, were free any evening for a movie night.

Without checking with his friend, Stiles immediately invited Danny over to their flat the following evening – Saturday night was almost always the two of them, or three when Scott was with Allison, watching all the football highlights on Match of the Day.  Scott didn’t mind of course, not even when Danny asked if Isaac, Emily and Caitlyn could come too.  Stiles was torn between happy to see the group of friends again, who’d he’d got one with well and confusion at the bundle of nerves he suddenly was.

The next evening was passed in new, enjoyable company.  Isaac seemed to be doing his best to get over his crush on Scott who, in turn was being polite but a bit more distant, though clearly he found that hard.  He had admitted he really liked Isaac and enjoyed his company and caustic wit; apparently the other boy was deeply sarcastic and wry, something Stiles hadn’t thought his friend would enjoy, but, with a shrug, accepted it and moved on.  Had he not been so sure of Scott’s sexuality he’d have thought there was more to the friendship than met the eye.

Seeing as they were mainly watching movies and snacking (though neither Scott or Stiles partook of the pizza they ordered for their guests, both eating the chicken salad Stiles had prepared for them) there wasn’t a huge amount of talking but they still chatted a little and Stiles couldn’t help but feel he was building up a nice little circle of friends and once again he considered just admitting that he liked guys, just to get it out there.  Whenever he started to convince himself to do it though, the familiar fear closed his throat and he stopped himself. He wanted to be secure, to be safe and for that he needed to focus on his football.

While he’d gotten a percentage of his transfer fee and given the majority to his father, Stiles still was focused on getting the most out of the season as he could – if he could stay in the Premiership for even a couple of years after Manchester United he could set up his Dad and have enough put by that even if he dropped down a league, or was injured, he’d be OK.  He didn’t want to threaten that with distractions and after spending time with the out and happy young people he was already distracting himself with more thoughts of coming out than he’d ever had before.

The following week saw two more fittings, and a couple more movie nights, but by the time Thursday came around the suits were ready and when they went to pick them up Stiles was bouncing with excitement about their news.  “You need to calm down, bro.” Scott tried to sound like he wasn’t excited, but, seeing as it was his idea, he was pretty buzzing too.

“No way! This is the most awesome plan in the history of things that have been planned!” Stiles exclaimed, jogging the last couple of steps to the familiar storefront.  “Bagsie I’m telling them!” He said over his shoulder as they went in and Scott laughed, nodding consent.  When he turned around, Danny was already standing by the counter, a wide smile lighting up his face so much that Stiles momentarily forgot how to speak and made a bizarre squeak in place of a greeting.

“Hey guys, you got time to try them on? Let us make any quick, hopefully, alterations?”

“Uh-huh,” Scott said, nodding – they had nothing else that day and were planning on doing absolutely nothing that evening.  “Is Isaac about?” He asked and Danny nodded.

“In the dressing room, come through.” Danny said, leading them into the back room where two large suit bags hung on hooks on the wall.  “OK, who’s first?” He asked looking at them both expectantly as Isaac moved from behind his workstation – a clever fold away thing - to stand by the bags.

“Actually… can you two sit down? We have something to ask you both?”  Stiles said, narrowly resisting the urge to rub his hands together with glee.  Danny and Isaac shared a confused look but sat on the plush seats, looking up at him.  “OK. We were talking to Marin, she’s our PR lady and in charge of, well, everything it seems and she asked which designers we were wearing.  Apparently GQ are attending the party as Jackson is the face of Diesel or something so they are doing a full fashion spread and she wanted to know, for whatever reason, actually… she never-“

“Stiles.” Scott interrupted.

“Sorry. Rambling.  Anyway… we told her we were having our suits bespoke made and then Scott had an idea.”  Stiles grinned at his friend.  “He asked if you two could come to the party as our guests and Marin went really quiet for a minute then decided it would be brilliant.” He paused as Danny and Isaac shared a confused glance. “She said we could make a big deal of Manchester United players supporting Manchester businesses and wanted to know if you, Danny, would meet with the GQ reporter and be like a case study or something?”  Stiles stopped hoping the two boys had kept up with him.

“Are you inviting us to the Manchester United pre-season team party?” Danny eventually asked.

“Yep!” Stiles grinned as the tailors shared a slow smile.

“And I’m going to be featured in GQ magazine?!” He clarified and Scott answered.

“We haven’t said yes to that yet, we said we’d have to check with you…”

“Oh my God! Yes!” Danny laughed.  “I’ve been trying to get some more exposure for this place for months, but we’re too small, too niche and Dad isn’t the most outgoing.  _GQ!?_ That’s _huge!_ ” He cried and scooped Stiles up in a hug and span him around the tight space causing the smaller boy to laugh uncontrollably.

“It was Scott’s idea! Put me down!” Danny did and tried to pick up Scott in a hug too, but gave it up as a bad lot as the other boy laughed and squirmed his way out of the hug. 

“Christ, what are we going to wear…” He mused and promptly ignored both Scott and Stiles while he started discussing with Isaac what they should show off from their collections.  Neither was bothered though, each had hoped their new friends would both accept and be happy.  Eventually though, they were remembered.  “Oh, God, sorry… your suits…”

“It’s fine, we’ll get them.” Stiles said, moving to the suit bags which had name tags identifying whose was who’s. 

“So, I can tell Marin that you’ll do the press thing?” Scott asked, pulling out his phone.

“Yes, yes…  in fact… why don’t you suggest they send a photographer here? If they wanted too…?”

“I’ll ask…” He said, stepping back into the front to make the call in private.  Stiles took the opportunity to dip into the changing room to try on his suit.  To him, it felt like it fit like a glove and when he exited the cubicle Danny and Isaac stopped dead in their conversation and studied him like a prize bull for auction.

“I love it.” Stiles said honestly.  It was cut to perfection, broadening his shoulders and narrowing his waist and while it was simple and elegent; there was a slight asymmetry to the jacket which drew the eye. 

“It’s not quite…” Danny frowned and he and Isaac pushed Stiles unceremoniously onto the fitting box and started pining at the hem of his trouser.  “Right… off.” He said and Stiles came down off the box to find both young men looking at him expectantly.  Eventually, Danny clarified: “Trousers off.” He said and Stiles felt a blush creeping up his face.

“Excuse me…” He said and rushed back to the changing room, not before catching the slightly confused look that passed between the other two boys.  No doubt he expected to strip them off there and then, but he was suddenly self-conscious.  Trying not to think about what it had felt like to have Danny demand he take off his clothes, Stiles got changed as quickly as he could.

By the time he’d got changed and out again Scott was back and explaining what Marin had said.  “Hey bud,” he greeted Stiles, “I was just explaining, Marin called the photographer from GQ and he wants to come here tomorrow morning but wants us here too, like getting fitted? So they can show off Danny at work? That OK with you Danny?”

“Perfect… you’ll have to leave your suits here though?”

“That’s OK. We were just lounging around tonight anyway…” Scott said, shrugging.  “Hey, is this mine…?” He asked and moved to the suit bag, Isaac nodded to him and suggested he try it on, just to check the fit and followed him to the changing room, though stopped short of going into the cubicle with him.  That left Stiles standing with Danny with absolutely nothing to say; every thought was too banal, too odd or just too… wrong.

“You excited for the party then?” Danny asked politely.

“Not really.” Stiles admitted and looked up to see the other boy looking at him askance.  “I’m not actually great in crowds and worse with interviews.  I hate being expected to know the right thing to say, I just get all tongue-tied.  Like half my brain wants to say the right thing but the other half wants to go off and talk about… I don’t know… the history of circumcision or something.”

Danny gave a small, surprised laugh. “Yeah… I don’t think that’d go over great on Match of the Day.”

“Or GQ. Or 4-4-2 magazine, or the Sun…” He admitted.  “Plus… most people think I’m a bit… weird, so I never have fun at these events.” He said, scuffing his foot along the carpet, not wanting to meet the other boy’s eyes.

“I don’t think you’re weird.” Danny said quietly and when Stiles didn’t look up, placed a hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder, “I think you’re nice.”

“I think you’re nice too.” Stiles said to the carpet and he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten slightly in surprise.  He steeled himself and shifted slightly and turned his head to face the other boy. Their faces were nearer to each other than he had thought and it was like all he could see was Danny’s face. All that existed in that moment was the two of them, just the look in Danny’s eyes and the full, soft red of his lips.  All caution vanished in a moment and Stiles tilted his head; all it would take was one little push and they’d be kissing.

“I’m coming out, be kind!” Scott’s voice shattered the moment and Stiles jumped away, confused at the words for a moment.  When his friend did appear, he looked fantastic and whereas, with Stiles, his suit needed a couple of fixes, Scott’s was apparently perfect.

“You look great.” He said, though his voice broke a little.

“Yeah, great.” Isaac agreed and blushed looking away.

“You did a great job, it fits perfectly.” Scott assured him.  Being so close to Danny, Stiles caught the other  boy mutter.

“It should do, he studied your body often enough.” Unable to hold back the laugh, Stiles turned it into a cough but Danny noticed and they shared a grin. “Well… I need to fix Stiles’ trousers… apparently he’s not quite as tall as I thought he was… but I’ll see you both in the morning?”

Scott and Stiles assured him they’d be here before either photographer and Scott went back into the changing room, leaving Stiles and Danny alone again. Whereas before there had been a closeness that had almost led to a moment, at that point, the distance between them could have crossed oceans.

“Stiles… about that… I’m sorry.” Danny said after a drawn out, awkward silence and Stiles just shook his head and blinked. 

“What?”

“Just then… when I…” He rolled his head in a manner which could have meant anything. “I shouldn’t have done it… I won’t do it again.” Before Stiles could respond Scott reappeared, thanking Danny and Isaac for all their hard work and making plans for the morning.  The next thing they were out and heading back to the car.  Stiles stopped dead and looked back at the shop. 

Somehow, he couldn’t help but feel he’d just messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!


	7. Par-TAY!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the preseason party at Manchester United and our boys have an... interesting... night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit later today - had a tricky time getting it pasted in... (I'm not telling you why... it's just embarrassing!)

“We should probably try and find Danny and Isaac.” Stiles said as he walked into the massive hall.  It was decorated tastefully and had an army of servers with trays of champagne flutes and canapés weaving their way in between well-dressed guests.  For a moment, both he and Scott were stunned with opulence all around and were left gawping until Allison tsk-ed at them and lead the way into the room proper.

“Close your mouths boys, you look like fish.” She said with a smile, threading her arms into theirs.  Stiles snapped his jaw closed and scanned the room for their friends.  While the three of them had come in the front doors, Allison and Scott following a single Stiles, Danny and Isaac were to have entered via the side doors.  When he first heard that, Stiles had been slightly put out on behalf of his friends, but having braved the paparazzi run at the front doors, he actually envied them.

Scott had seemed to enjoy it though, especially with Allison on his arm.  The papers loved the young couple, loved the on/off nature of their relationships as it filled column inches and sold copies.  The pair of them looked stunning. Scott filled out his suit masterfully and Allison had selected a gown and short jacket which complemented him perfectly.  She always had a good eye for fashion, but Stiles detected her Mother’s hand in the selection of the dress – it had a vicious cut to it that Stiles associated with Mrs Argent.

While there had certainly been a few calls for Stiles to look or stand a certain way, as soon as his friends appeared out of the car all attention had turned to them and it was like he’d been forgotten.  He had tried his best not to let out too obvious a sigh of relief as the cameras came off him, though he’d almost bolted to the doors.  Marin had been waiting and, once again, gone over the expectations for the evening; Stiles only had a couple of specific interviews to do, one with GQ and one with the Observer who wanted to talk about his record collection of A-levels for a footballer.  He was also expected to speak to all the journalists he could about the honour of playing for Manchester United, how happy he was and what great support he was receiving. 

She had smoothed down the jacket of his suit and turned her attention to Scott who had a lot more interviews to do, being, after Derek Hale, the signing everyone wanted to talk too.  After that they’d been released into the party.  “Where do you think they’ll be?” He asked either of his friends as he scooped up a champagne glass with absolutely no intention of drinking it.  A drunk Stiles was a chatty Stiles and if there was one place he didn’t want his mouth to run away from him; it was at his first Manchester United gathering.

“Probably near the bar? Or the press pool? Didn’t you arrange somewhere to meet them?”  Allison asked and both the boys with her shrugged.

“Didn’t think too. Didn’t think it would be this big.” Scott admitted looking around the packed room. Not only was it filled with players and their wives and girlfriends, but it seemed everyone that worked at Manchester United was there along with every local celebrity and some past Man U heroes.

“Boys, boys, boys.” Allison shook her head, but it was said affectionately.  “How did the photo shoot at Danny’s shop go?” Stiles instantly shot a look over to Scott who smiled and laughed. “What, what happened?” She stopped and demanded of her ex.

“Well... nothing happened, but the photographer kept trying to get us out of our clothes.  He kept going on about the juxtaposition of clothed tailors and the ‘Grecian beauty of the models’.” He said, using air quotes.

“He did not!” Allison laughed at the blatant excuse to try and get fit young men out of their clothes.

“He did.” Scott assured her. “He kept on at Stiles so much I thought he was going to cry so I offered...” Allison covered her eyes with one perfectly manicured hand and shook her head. “So, I’ll be in GQ in all my boxer-shorted glory.

“Oh good god.”  She said, though didn’t sound displeased, more amused than anything else.

“That’s what Isaac said.” Stiles added in, grinning at Scott who’s smile turned a little sad.

“Awwww...” Allison said, snuggling up on her ex, “Is he still crushing on you?” When Scott nodded, she grinned and poked him in the side, “That’s OK, he just hasn’t got to know you yet.”  She laughed as he looked at her, surprised.  Shaking his head at the pair of them, Stiles suggested they head to the bar, see if they can find their new friends.

Danny and Isaac weren’t hard to spot, both were taller than most of the crowd and both were better dressed than most of them too.  They looked like fish out of water though, each holding their glasses in both hands, eyes going wide whenever they settled on a celebrity or a player.  When they saw Stiles, Scott and Allison they visible relaxed and shared greetings and smiles; Allison though squealed with delight and swept up into Danny, complimenting him on growing up so very, very well.

“You been here long?” Scott asked and Danny nodded.

“Ms Morrell asked us to come early to do some more work with the GQ guys, so we’ve been here since the start, pretty much.”

“Sorry, we’d have come earlier, but there was a specific order of arrival and Marin, Ms Morrell, wanted us here, now, so...” Scott replied, with half a frown, half a smile.

“It’s OK.  We’ve been watching people come in, there’s like... a million celebrities here.” He dropped his voice to a whisper at the end, and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Yeah... I think Manchester United are trying to show off a little.” He explained and they all nodded.

“Hey, who’s that?” Isaac asked, pointed across the room a little at one of their teammates.

Stiles smiled at him.  “That’s Jackson Whittmore, a forward, like Scott, was at Chelsea, thinks he’s God’s gift to ... well, everything.  Why? You like?” He grinned as Isaac blushed.  Stiles reached over and squeezed Isaac’s arm, hoping to show he was just kidding and tried to share a smile with Scott who was frowning at Jackson a little while Allison seemed to be frowning at Scott.  The only one not frowning was Danny who was still watching Jackson.

“No.”Isaac mumbled, “He’s just dressed well.”

“He’s dressed _very_ well.” Danny agreed and Stiles noticed that the other boy seemed to be trying to mentally trace ever line of Jackson’s suit.  As if he was somehow alerted to the attention, Jackson turned and headed over to them, a tall, thin man walking with him.  The group moved apart a little, allowing the newcomers some space.

“Alright guys.” He greeted them and introduced them to Dominic, his designer from Diesel. 

“I didn’t know Diesel made suits?” Danny asked him, not rude, just curious.

“Normally we do not.” The man replied, accent betraying him instantly as being from mainland Europe, rather than the UK. “But Jackson is our new spokesman and at an event like this...” He shrugged and looked them all over, critical eye taking in every detail.

“It’s very good.” Danny said and Dominic nodded.

“Oui, oui. So are yours, all of you... dressed so well for the British.” Stiles rolled his eyes but Allison laughed.

“Thank you, I’m wearing Wale Adeyami, but the boys were all styled by Danny and Isaac here.” She said nodding at the two young men who were standing up straighter and staring down the other designer.

“Very nice... very.” Dominic said, placing a finger under Scott’s collar and running it underneath, nodding at whatever he was looking for.

“Thank you.” Isaac said, taking credit for his work. 

“Why don’t you go mingle, I’m gonna talk football for a while.” Jackson said and turned his back on his designer and ended up fully facing Stiles.  “So how’s the midfield looking Stilinski?” He asked.

“Errrr...it’s good, Hale’s a strong presence but we’ve got plenty of depth...” He trailed off as Dominic huffed and walked off.  “He’s gone.” Stiles said, watching the man depart over his teammates shoulder.

“Thank God. He’s a dick.” Jackson hitched his shoulders and introduced himself again, finishing up on Danny. “That really is a good suit.”

“So’s this...” Danny said, reaching out and fondling the material on Jackson’s jacket, fingers brushing along the shirt as he did.

“Hey there cowboy, hands to yourself, you’re barking up the wrong tree if you think this eagle hunts that way.” Jackson said, arms up as if in surrender but Danny just laughed.

“Ignoring the multitude of mixed metaphors there mate, you can rest assured that the cloth of your suit is all I’m interested it, you’re _so_ not my type.” Stiles smiled at the words, pleased his friend hadn’t been offended.

“I’m everyone’s type.” Jackson countered with a grin, making Danny laugh again.

“Oh man, people never say no to you do they.” As Jackson smirked and shook his head. “Let me guess... Porsche? 918 Spyder?” Danny asked and shared a smile with the other boy who nodded.

“How’d you possibly know that?” Jackson asked suspicious.

“You seem the type.” Danny said and leant in to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “Saw it online when he bought it, he got in trouble at Chelsea for doing a press thing for them, don’t tell him I know that!”  Stiles laughed and looked at Jackson who was studying Danny, curiously.

“So you’re a gay guy who knows suits _and_ cars, what else do you do?”

“Well, besides hack into super-computers? Not much... What makes you think I’m gay anyway?” He asked and Jackson rolled his eyes so hard Stiles thought they were about to fall out of his head.

“Come on... I’ve been around the fashion industry long enough to spot the way you boys’ eyes light up at a good looking guy in a suit.” This time the smirk was addressed at both Danny and Isaac, who was glaring at Jackson, though Danny just laughed again.

“Come on short stuff.” He said to Jackson, “For that, you can find me a decent drink.” Danny placed his glass back on to the bar and walked off with Jackson, not looking back.

“What just happened?” Asked Scott, confused. 

“I think we’ve lost Danny.” Allison said with a smile. 

“I didn’t like him.” Isaac said in a small voice and Stiles shared an uneasy grimace with the taller boy.  While he didn’t dislike Jackson, they certainly weren’t friends though seeing Danny laughing and joking and going off with him made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.  He was watching the two boys walk off so missed the young woman join their little group until he heard her exclaim.

“That jacket is totally killer, where did you get it?” Stiles turned to see a stunningly good looking red-head talking to Allison.

“Oh, my Mum’s a buyer for a boutique on Mayfair, she gets me samples from designers, this is Adeyami.” She looked a bit taken aback by this forceful girl.

“And _you_ are my new best friend.”  Allison gave a quick, nervous laugh and looked to Scott and Stiles who both shrugged, unsure who this was.  “I’m Lydia Martin.” She extended a hand and Allison shook it.

“Allison Argent, pleased to meet you.”

“Ah, yes. I recognise you now.” Lydia said, thoughtfully pursing her lips, glancing at Scott.

“I don’t recognise you.” Allison said with a laugh and Lydia smiled, tilted her head and nodded.

“No, most don’t. I’ve been placed on the board of Manchester United to oversee it’s business ventures and capital investments.”

“But you’re what... twenty?”  Stiles said, unable to help himself.

She looked at him for less than half a second but he felt himself utterly judged in that single moment.

“Twenty-one.” She said to Allison. “But I have my MBA and Malcolm Glazier was my Godfather; he left a sizeable chunk of shares here to me on the proviso that I take an interest in the company; he wanted someone who didn’t care about soccer to ensure the business makes money.  Hence, me.” She said, flourishing a hand at herself. “And so far, every single person I’ve met here has been impossibly fashion-challenged.” 

“Well... I live in London, I’m just up for the party.  You should meet Danny though, he may know some people you could meet?” Allison said, removing her arm from Scott’s and leading Lydia off in the direction Jackson and Danny had gone.

“And then there were three.” Stiles said, watching them go.

“Three what?” Said a distinctly different, yet still American, voice from behind him.  He did his best not to jump and turned slowly to see Derek Hale with two men he didn’t recognise at his side.

“We just seemed to be losing our group a little.” He said, hoping it didn’t sound as lame as he felt it did, but Derek just nodded.

“Who’s this?” He said, smiling at Isaac, offering a hand to shake.

“This is Isaac, he’s our tailor, Marin’s got him doing something for GQ.” Scott explained as the other boy seemed to have totally lost his ability to speak.  While Isaac may not have been a massive football fan, it seemed everyone knew who Derek Hale was.

“Pleased to meet you.  Scott, Stiles this is my Uncle Peter and Uncle Duke.” He said, introducing the two men.  Hands were shook and greetings exchanged though Stiles couldn’t get over how different the two men looked.

“You look really different to be brothers.” He said, the filter on his mouth clearly broken.

The one introduced as Peter looked at him condescendingly and answered slowly, as one would to a child, “We aren’t brothers, he’s my husband.” Stiles’ jaw dropped and he spluttered an apology, not meeting anyone’s eye.  _Is there no one straight in this city!?_ He thought to himself.

“I thought your girlfriend was coming tonight?” Derek said to Scott after a brief glare at Stiles who somehow managed to feel smaller than he had.

“My ex, yes, we’re just friends now, she’s just gone off with someone called Lydia Martin.” He pointed at the girls who were at the other side of the bar.

“Lydia Martin? The Lydia Martin?” Peter asked and the three boys nodded.  Nodding to his husband, Derek’s uncles left them and walked in the direction of the girls.

“Peter handles all my financial affairs and he and Duke run several businesses, Ms Martin could be an important person to know.” Derek explained to them, though he still wasn’t looking at Stiles.

“Must be nice, having your family here?” Isaac offered, though looked surprised he’d spoken.

Derek smiled at him, seeming genuinely happy he had asked. “It is, thank you, it’s not for long though. My uncles are returning to the States next week, business calls apparently, so I’ll be all alone.”

“You’ll still have Paige though, right?” Scott asked and Stiles racked his brain trying to work out who that was.

“Is that your wife?” He asked and was flat-out ignored.

“To an extent, she’s busy a lot and in London for rehearsals and concerts. Plus she has a tour coming up in Europe, so I really will be alone.”  When he said that, Stiles remembered.  Paige Madison was a leading concert cellist who had taken up with the London Philharmonic Orchestra when Derek had agreed to move to Manchester.  She was utterly brilliant, truly a master and in constant demand wherever she went.

“I have one of her CDs.” Stiles said and they all turned to him, faces ranging from confused from Isaac, sympathetic from Scott and inscrutable from Derek.  “Of her playing? She’s great.”

“Yes she is.” Derek said.  “In fact...” He looked around Stiles and beckoned to someone. “Here she is...” A petite, dark haired woman joined Derek, hugging into his side and smiling at them all.  “Paige, this is Isaac, a tailor ... from Manchester?”   Derek asked and Isaac nodded, shaking her hand. “Scott McCall, forward and Genim Stilinski, midfield.”

Stiles grimaced at the mispronunciation of his name and when he shook Paige’s hand said, “Just call me Stiles, no one can ever pronounce my first name properly.”

“Did I not say it right?” Derek asked, tone accusatory, sounding like it was Stiles’ fault he couldn’t pronounce the name.

“No.” He said, flicking Hale a single look, all he ever offered Stiles.  It felt small and petty, but he didn’t care. He returned his focus back to Paige. “It was my Mum’s idea, her brother’s name, he died when she was small.” He waved away the attempted, consoling interruption and carried on, “She loved your music. Took me to the concert you did in London in two thousand and eight?”

“I remember that night.” Paige said, smiling.

“So do I, Mum looked... she’d been sick for a while, your music helped.” Realising he was straying close to a territory he didn’t want to go to he quickly pushed on. “She forced me to take music lessons after that, the piano? – man, I was rubbish at first, but she made me practice every day, I’m OK at it now... she was so proud when I got my Grade 1.” Stiles stopped, losing himself in the memories of playing with his Mum at his side.

“She sounds like a fantastic woman. Does she play too?” Paige asked.

“She did. The piano too, better than me, not like you.” He said with a smile and Derek asked the question he hoped no one would.

“Did?”

“She died. A few years ago.” He said and there was an uncomfortable silence.  Stiles knew they were all looking at him, but didn’t want to anyone in the eye, not even Scott.

“I’m sorry Stiles, that must have been very hard for you.” Paige said, her hand reaching out for one of his to offer what comfort she could.  He shrugged and kept his head down.

“Derek, did you want something?” Scott asked, trying to change the subject. “When you came over? You looked very purposeful?”

“Oh, he always looks like that, it normally means he’s forgotten something.” Paige said with a laugh, releasing Stiles hand and turning back to Derek.

“Yes, actually, Marin wanted me to ask you to join her for the 4-4-2 interview.” Derek said and Scott nodded.

“Fair enough, sounds like my evening of interviews is about to begin.  I’ll catch up with you later?” He said to Stiles and Isaac who both nodded.  When he left the four of them stood in an awkward silence for a few moments.  They shared a few smiles and then Derek and Stiles both started talking at once, falling into a polite battle to see who could make the other go first.

“I was just going to ask how you are finding life in the UK?” Stiles said, inwardly grimacing at how lame that sounded, but Paige and Derek both started answering fully and he relaxed a little, then Paige asked Isaac about his work and he was able to tell them about the store and GQ article.  Stiles watched the conversation, still removed a little as Derek assured Isaac he’d come in for a suit too and Paige asked about women’s formal wear in Manchester.

That was when Jackson, Danny, Allison, Lydia and Derek’s uncle’s all returned, allowing Stiles to fade into the anonymity of a group; Allison still flashed him concerned looks from time to time though.  Everyone started trading questions and stories, Danny seemed to be in his element and even Jackson seemed to think he was marvellous.  Stiles started to offer less and less, feeling more and more apart from everyone. The circle started to grow and lessen as people came and went until eventually Stiles was instructed to go to Marin and one of his interviews.  Grateful to leave the large group, he escaped and followed the messenger back to his handler.

She directed him to his interviews, managed the questions, timing and flow of conversation and Stiles himself did his best to sound utterly normal and common.  At the end of the interviews he asked if she knew where Scott was. “He’s just finishing up, if you wait here, he’ll be out in a minute.” She said, focus already on Matt Daehler who’d appeared from nowhere.  Stiles hung about in the corridor until Scott appeared, greeting his friend with a smile and yawn.

“Thank God that’s over... You OK?” He asked and Stiles shook his head a little then allowed his friend to lead him down the corridor and out onto a balcony.  “What’s up?”

“I’m just feeling a bit...” He shrugged, it was hard to articulate what he was feeling. He stepped forward and leaned on the metal railing, taking in the brisk evening air and looking out over the city as it lay sprawled before him.  It looked unreal from the height they were at.

“That’s OK. Let’s just hang out here for a bit.” Scott said and shrugged his jacket off before sinking to the floor.  Stiles huffed a little laugh and joined his friend on the ground; he didn’t know what he’d done in a past life to deserve Scott as a friend but it must have been pretty epic.  He always seemed to know what Stiles needed, and clearly, in the midst of a party to celebrate them, what he needed was some alone time with his best friend.

After some chat about their interviews they got on to discussing the people they’d met.

“So Paige seems nice.” Scott said and Stiles nodded.

“Can’t believe she ended up with Derek Hale... all he does is scowl.” Stiles said, kicking at the wall.

“He’s not that bad, honestly Stiles, you’ll be playing with him, just give him a chance.”

He sighed. “I know... it’s just...” He considered telling Scott about what he’d overheard in the cupboard – how emphatic that Hale hadn’t wanted him in the squad, but knew the advice would be the same.  “I know.  I can’t believe I made a fool of myself with his uncles though... what was I thinking?” He groaned and Scott laughed a little.

“They probably get stuff like that all the time. I’m sure they don’t think anything of it... it’s good though, isn’t it? That Derek has gay uncles?”

“Why is that good?” Stiles asked, suspicious.

“Well, we know he’s not going to be homophobic if something... you know... happens.” He nodded at Stiles and wiggled his eyebrows. 

Stiles mimicked him and gave his shoulder a push, “Nothing’s going to... you know... happen.  That disaster with Him messed up my game big style, I can’t risk that here.”

“But _He_ was a dick.” He said, referring to the one relationship Stiles had had in the past.  All Scott knew was that it was someone who worked at Fulham who wasn’t out, at all, and he and Stiles had dated secretly for about six months.  It hadn’t really been dating; it had been six months of Stiles sneaking into his building at night and some weekends and fooling around.  He’d known it wasn’t going to go anywhere so hadn’t told Scott the details, but he’d been so lonely, so desperate, he’d thought he’d wanted it.  When it ended, with a whimper in the flat that the relationship had never left, Stiles was relieved more than anything else – he could concentrate on his football again and stop stressing over his appalling relationship.  There were other reliefs too but that one stood out.

“He was at that.” Stiles conceded, knowing that while Scott didn’t know all the details, he knew enough.

“But it could happen... here I mean.  Wouldn’t it be better if Derek and van Gaal knew? Marin maybe? Bobby?” Scott asked and Stiles looked at him like he was insane.

“No.” He said, hoping to sound firm. “There’s no point.”

“But... we’re meeting people and we’ll meet more and... you’ll like someone...” Scott began and Stiles cut him off.

“Even if I did, I need to keep my head in the game, for Dad.”

“Yeah... but...you need to be happy too, you play best when you’re happy.” Scott said and bumped his shoulder.

“I know... but... there’s no one.” Stiles said, feeling a blush crawl up his face.

“What about Danny?” Scott asked quietly and Stiles looked at him, bemused.

“What about him?”

“Well... I’m pretty sure he likes you.” Scott said carefully.

“I don’t think so.” Stiles tried to deny it, tried to make it not real so he wouldn’t have to think about it.

“I do. Look, you saw it when Isaac had a crush on me and I didn’t... maybe it’s just like that.  Do you like him?”

“Oh my God. I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Oh, I see, you’d rather talk about boys you might like with your Dad?” Scott grinned and Stiles gawped at him.

“No way!”

“Then, I’m your only choice...” Scott smiled at his own cleverness. “Do you like Danny?” He asked again and Stiles glared at him.

“I don’t know, I’ve not thought about it.” He said, half-truthfully.  He hadn’t thought about it because he was scared to.

“Well, maybe you should.” Scott said and they sat in silence while Stiles did just that.  He thought about the dimples Danny had when he smiled, he thought about how he liked to whisper jokes or comments just for him, he thought of his calloused hands and broad shoulders and he thought that maybe he could think about it a bit more.  “In the meantime, I think it’s really important you tell Derek.” Scott said.

“Tell Derek what?” Their captain said at the door to the balcony.  He was stood, arms folded, in the doorway sniffing the air.

“We’re not smoking.” Scott said quickly and Derek frowned at them.  The pair of them stood up, Scott collecting his jacket from the railing and Stiles looked pointedly at the door.

“Tell me what?”  He repeated and the two boys shared a look but neither said anything.  “Right,” He stepped out on to the balcony, crowding it a little, but closing the door behind him.  “We aren’t leaving here until you tell me what’s important for me to know.”

“It’s nothing Derek, Scott was just being... Scott.” Stiles tried, but all that happened was that the older man raised an eyebrow.  They stood in silence for a disturbingly long time, Scott had shrugged at Stiles and was leaning against the railing, looking down, clearly opting out of what was happening.  “Seriously, it’s not a big deal, but it’s private and I don’t want you know.”

“He said it was really important you tell me something.  It’s my responsibility to look out for my squad and if you’re mixed up in something, I need to know to help.  Is it drugs?” He asked and Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Derek, it’s not drugs, it’s not anything, Scott was just being overprotective, which is one of his many annoying habits.” Stiles caught the smile his friend gave the ground but carried on. “He was just voicing an opinion, it’s not important.”

“If it’s not important, you can tell me.”  At that moment, one of Marin’s messengers knocked on the glass door of the balcony.  Stiles felt a swelling of hope smashed down as Derek opened the door long enough to say, “Go away.” And shut it again. “So, tell me.”

“It’s not your business.” Stiles said through gritted teeth, hoping anger might convince his captain where reason hadn’t.

“I’m making it my business.” Hale responded in the same tone.

Stiles folded his arms across his chest until he realised it made him look petulant so he turned away from Derek and looked out over the city.  No one said anything for a time.  From where they were Stiles had a good view over Manchester.  It was all bright lights and people moving, like ants along pathways, through the city, each with their own worries and cares.

“Your uncles.”  Stiles said into the night. “I’m like that.” He admitted to nothing and he heard Derek shift from foot to foot.

“You’re gay?” He asked, surprise clear in his voice.  Stiles just nodded and from the corner of his eye saw Scott nod at their captain.  “OK.” Derek said, voice less surprised but still sounding tight.  “Why tell me though, do you... are you... is there someone... you like?” The question sounded odd and strained and Stiles turned to the older man looking oddly nervous.

Stiles considered his words carefully. “Scott thought you should know, not me and as for liking someone... maybe... I’m not sure how he feels though.” He was watching so caught how Derek’s shoulder’s seemed to bunch, like his muscles were tightening, straining.

“Danny.” Scott supplied and they both turned to him, “the tailor guy?” Stiles looked at him, completely incredulous.

“Scott!” He cried, annoyed.

“What? I didn’t want him to worry it was someone on the team?” He argued, gesturing at Derek who had visibly deflated, presumably in relief, but Stiles caught an odd look which flitted across the older man’s face.

“No, that’s good.” Hale said. “And you’re right, it’s not important, not to me anyway.  Are you wanting to go anywhere with this? Like, come out?” Derek asked and Stiles shook his head.

“No, no.  Not at all.” He assured his captain urgently. “I’m staying in.  It’s fine.”

“Oh, OK.  Well... that was anti-climatic.” Derek said wryly.

“You’re telling me.” Stiles said and they shared a smile at the situation.

“Come on guys, we’re probably being missed.” Derek said and opened the door back into the corridor.  “I –“ He began as Stiles went passed him.  “It really doesn’t matter to me, if you want someone to talk to, I’m here.” He eventually said and Stiles nodded, knowing it was expected. As soon as they got back into the main body of the party Derek was swamped by people and drawn away, but not before sharing one last look with Stiles who took the look to be supportive more than anything else.

On their way back to where they’d left their friends, Scott and Stiles chatted to, and met, dozens of people; players, staff, celebrities, hangers on and random people who were something to someone in Manchester United.  As a pair though, Stiles felt so much more confident and began to enjoy himself.  No more so than when they finally found their friends and were met with a cheer causing half the room to turn to them.

Lydia had apparently ordered tables shifted and seating brought as their gang all were reclining in mix-matched chairs around a table littered with empty bottles and discarded plates.  Isaac was sitting next to Lydia with Allison on his knee, the three of them grinning and laughing, while Danny was on a high stool regaling Jackson and Matt, who’d joined them, with stories.  Stiles looked at the tall boy and thought about what Scott had said.  _Maybe..._

The eight of them barely shifted from there for the rest of the night, places moved as people went for drinks, more chairs appeared as other players and staff joined them but the core group seemed happy for them to be as they were.  Stiles spent most of the evening with Lydia, both impressed with the other’s intellect, though she was unnecessarily vocal about her surprise at finding a soccer player with a brain.

Marin appeared at some point and told them she’d booked them some cars and they were to go; while she didn’t seem pleased they had become a slightly drunken group of loud youngsters, she didn’t seem overly upset either.  Remembering they had a fully complete day off the next day, Stiles invited everyone back to his and Scott’s flat to continue the night.

In truth he was utterly delighted when they all accepted.  After telling Derek he was gay and finding him supportive, Stiles had experienced an utter and complete sense of elation.  Then, with his best friend at his side, he’d been able to talk to his new team mates and not feel outside it all and finally, a group of people - boys, girls, gay, straight, bi, footballers, non-footballers - all seemed happy to see him... it had turned into one of the happiest nights of his young life.

On getting outside, they split into two groups to head back to the flat. Stiles ended up in a car with Allison, Danny and Isaac and had the great idea to invite Caityln and Emily over too; he really did like those girls.  Allison, soberest of them all, tried to convince him it was too late to call but Stiles was adamant.  Sadly, the amount of abuse he received from whichever of the couple answered suggested that, perhaps, Allison had been right.

On reaching their large, modern and well furnished flat the joy and laughter of the group settled into a happy contentment.  Lydia muttered her way through their music collection before finally finding some chill out music to have a final few drinks too.  They collapsed in the front room, talking and sipping on drinks, all sharing tales and stories. 

Stiles watched it all, happy and tired, a whiskey in his hand.  Having learned his lesson he texted his Dad rather than call him just letting him know that he was well, and happy and missed his old man.  No reply was forthcoming, which wasn’t unexpected. Seeing Matt curled up on one of the sofa’s Stiles went to his room and grabbed the blanket from it, draping it over the sleeping boy.

“Well, that’s a good sign for me to go I think.” Lydia said and pressed a button which speed-dialled her car and she offered a lift home to the room generally.  Jackson snored in response and Stiles sent Scott for the blanket from his room, meaning that both sofas were full of teammates. Allison was staying over but Danny and Isaac begged out of the offer seeing as they were going completely the other direction and assured Lydia they would be fine.  she shrugged and gave a round of kisses before hugging Allison and heading out when her driver called.

Danny and Isaac started arguing about which taxi company to call but Scott just told them to crash with at the flat.  Both boys looked pointedly at the sleeping boys on the sofas and Scott rolled his eyes. “No, have one of the beds.  I’ve got a kingsize, it’ll take three of us for sure.”

“Shouldn’t Allison have her own bed, she’s the only girl?” Danny asked, swaying slightly in the effort of staying on his feet for so long.

“I’m in with Scott. He’s my teddy bear.” She responded and snuggled into Scott’s side, head resting on his shoulder.

“OK. So... I’ll go in with Allison and Scott, you two have my bed.” Stiles said and nodded decisively.

“No. You snore.” Allison said and pointed away from herself, not really at anything, but the meaning was clear.

“I do not!” Stiles said, shocked.

“You do, and you talk.” Scott said, nodding sadly.

“Which of you two don’t snore?” She asked, eyeing Isaac and Danny, both of whom looked a little shocked, though Danny recovered first.

“I snore.” He admitted and Isaac looked at him, glaring a little.

“No you don’t.”

“I do. I snore all the time.” He said with a smirk which became a smile as Allison grabbed Isaac’s hand and dragged him to the bedroom.

“Night guys.” Scott said with a wave and disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Danny and Stiles in the flat alone, apart from two drunk, sleeping footballers. 

“It’s OK, I can call a taxi.” Danny said and Stiles just shook his head.

“It’s late and I’ve a big bed.”  He thought for a second trying to make that sound better.  “I mean... you’re welcome to stay and... yeah... “

“If you’re sure....” Danny said, though he didn’t seem to be swaying anymore.  Stiles nodded and held up a finger, asking for a minute.  He disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of big bottles of water, passing one to Danny who gratefully accepted and showed him through to the bedroom.  “I always need water if I’ve been drinking.” Stiles said, taking a swig.

“No, yeah, it’s a good call. Nice room.” Danny said, looking around the sparse, white walled room.  They’d only been in for a little while so it was still pretty bare – only the bookcase showed any personality along with the two framed pictures by his bed, both of his parents.  Stiles shrugged in response to Danny’s comment. “Errrmmmm... do you have anything I can borrow?” he asked and Stiles looked him up and down, considering.

“I don’t think so. You’re taller than me.” Stiles said and walked through to the en suite bathroom.

“Like... by two inches...” Danny said with a smile.

“Yeah... but I don’t actually have _anything_.” Stiles waved his arms around. “It’s laundry day tomorrow so all my sleepywear is in the basket.”

“Oh.” Danny said, frowning.  He picked at his suit trousers, clearly considering sleeping in his clothes.

“I don’t mind sleeping in boxers.” He said at which point the little voice that had been jumping about in the back of his head finally started getting through.  It started to sink in what was happening and what he’d just offered. To give himself time to think about what to do he shut the door and splashed some water on his face.  Looking at his dripping reflection he resolved that it would be simple – brush teeth, let Danny in to the bathroom, strip and into bed and then pretend to be asleep when Danny came out.

When he came out of the bathroom, Danny was just finishing hanging up his suit.  “I borrowed a hanger... I hope that’s OK?” He said, twisting at the waist to go from profile to face Stiles directly, giving him the perfect view of his broad chest and tapered waist.  He even had those cut lines on his hips pointing down into snug fitting dark blue, tight, tight briefs.  Stiles brain short-circuited completely and he nodded. Only after he had did he recognise he’d answered Danny’s question.  “Thanks... I’ll just.” He pointed behind Stiles and shimmied past him into the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut, Stiles felt his strings being cut and he flailed a little at just how hot Danny was. Then he remembered his plan and threw all his clothes off as quickly as he could before dashing around the edge of the bed and scrambling into it.  He pulled his knees up, crushing his midsection and most importantly one part of him that had responded definitely to Danny despite his intoxication.  Trying his best to think unsexy thoughts, he settled into bed and tried to get into a comfortable position where he could pretend to be asleep.

Instead though, he became focused on the noises from his en suite.  Danny was in there.  An almost naked Danny was in his bathroom.  There was a hot guy about to get into his bed.  Stiles swallowed his fear and reminded himself that Danny expected him to be a typical straight guy and would want him to go straight to sleep, which worked for Stiles.

As soon as the door opened, Stiles snapped his eyes shut and tried to take deep and slow breathes. He heard Danny stumble around a little after the light went out then felt the bed dip and the covers move.  Stiles made sure he kept his breathing steady though really he wanted to just hold his breath.  “You’re not asleep.” Danny said, sounding amused.

“I might be.” Stiles mumbled but ended up smiling.  He opened his eyes and, rolling over, could just about make out the outline of the other boy. 

“Now I know you’re not.”

“I’ll just call you Sherlock shall I?” Stiles said, trying to sound sleepy.

“Did you hang up your suit?” Danny asked after a moment.

“Maaaaaaybe.” Stiles tried to hedge.

“Stiles...” Danny sounded both amused and exasperated in equal measure.

“You sound like my Dad.”

“Just what every boy wants to hear...” Danny murmured before he shifted to be side on, facing Stiles. “I had a really fun night.”

“That’s nice.” He said but couldn’t help but grin a little, happy his friend was happy.

“Did you?”

“Yeah... I actually really did.”  Stiles said and Danny shifted, getting comfortable.

“Good.  I remembered you said you were worried, but everyone was really nice and you looked happy.”

“I looked happy?” Stiles asked, surprised that Danny had been looking, or knew what to look for.

“Yeah.” He said and ran his fingers lightly over Stiles’ bare shoulder.  Stiles swallowed hard and froze, unsure what he wanted to do next.  “Do you want to be happy, Stiles?” Danny breathed, mouth close to his own. He got the feeling that if he made the final move, Danny would be into it, but he’d be into it with Stiles as a straight guy who was having a drunken fumble.   He didn’t want that.  If he really did like Danny, like, when he wasn’t drunk, then he wanted Danny to know that and for it to be two guys getting together because they wanted to. So Stiles ducked his head and turned away a little.  “Sorry.” Danny said and rolled back, clearly embarrassed he’d made a move.

“No, you’re fine. It’s late. Let’s just sleep OK?” Stiles asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

“It’s OK, I get it Stiles. I crossed a line... maybe I should go...” Danny said facing the wall and Stiles felt his chest constrict.

“No. I mean... you didn’t, it’s not... urgh!” He groaned and sat up, dislodging the sheets a little.

“What?” Danny asked, confused more than anything else.

“It’s not that I don’t... I mean... you are...” Stiles shook his head trying to clear his thoughts.  Part of him just wanted to turn away and pretend nothing was happening.

“What am I?” Danny asked, voice trembling a little.

Stiles turned back to look at the other boy, but seeing the hurt and confusion on his face had to look away again.  “You’re you and that’s great but... I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“But I’m gay.” Stiles suddenly admitted without any real thought.  As soon as it was out he felt both relieved and panicked at the same time.

“Oh, shit.” Danny said before he gave a little laugh.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to laugh!” He said, bizarrely hurt by the reaction.

“Sorry, sorry... but... I’ve just lost a bet with Caitlyn.”

“What? A bet?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, she bet me fifty quid you were gay.”

“You bet I wasn’t?” He asked, surprised.

“Well... yeah... you’re a footballer.” Danny explained and Stiles huffed a little.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed... so... gay, huh?”

“Yeah.” Stiles admitted, hanging his head a little.

“Since when...?” Danny asked.

“Since ever.” Stiles replied. “You didn’t turn me if that’s what you’re thinking.” Stiles said with a grin and lay back, turning his head to get a better look at Danny who was not only definitely awake, but also much more sober than he’d seemed.

“No... that’s not what I was thinking... OK, it was maybe what I was thinking.” He grinned and the dimples melted Stiles’ walls a little more.   “So... you’re a gay footballer.”

“Right now I’m just a nervous gay guy.” Stiles admitted.

“Why are you nervous?” Danny asked.

“Because... I’m in bed with a guy... that I... you know....” He said.

“Like?”

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t want to...”

“I don’t...”

“Because you like me...?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re weird.” Danny said with a smile.

“I know.”

“But it’s a good weird.” He admitted with a sigh and settled into the pillows.

“So... we’re OK?”  Stiles asked after a while.

“Yeah... I like you, you like me, we’re not touching because we’re drunk and you’re weird and tomorrow we’ll have an awkward and silly conversation until we agree to go on an actual date, but a sneaky date because you’re a footballer and not out.  Same old, same old, just your normal Saturday night really.” Danny said, eyes still closed but a sneaky smile on his face.

Stiles grinned at the boy next to him. “You’re a dick.”

“And you li-i-i-i-ke me.” Danny responded.  Stiles just laughed and shook his head.

“Night Danny.”

“Night Stiles.”

“Thanks Danny.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

Stiles lay back, completely convinced he was too wired to sleep. As he closed his eyes, however, he was promptly proved wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it... Let me know! :-D
> 
> G*


	8. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Scott, Allison and Isaac left Danny and Stiles.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Scott, he realised what had just happ­­ened.­­ Or at least, he thought he knew what had happened. Leaning against the cold, firm wood though and considering, he realised that maybe he didn’t know what was going on.  Blinking hard, shaking his head a little he looked over at Allison, calmly removing her earrings by the dresser and Isaac, nervously perched on the edge of the bed, he realised he had no idea, none at all, what was happening.

“I’m going to use the bathroom first, OK, boys?” Allison asked and Scott nodded as she went into the well-appointed en-suite.  Isaac watched her go as though she was the last lifeboat on the titanic.  Scott pushed off the door and went to sit next to his friend on the bed; even through the haze of champagne and whisky he could tell Isaac was nervous, scared almost.

“Hey mate, you OK?” Scott asked though the other boy just nodded and shrugged. “You had a nice night?”

Isaac turned his head up to meet Scott’s eyes and a wry smile flitted across his face.  “At the most illustrious event in the Manchester, with more celebrities than you can shake a stick at and a spread in GQ magazine, yeah I’d say it was pretty nice.”

Scott grinned and chuckled a little.  “If you can still use words like illustrious, you aren’t drunk enough.”

“Ohhhh, I’m drunk enough all right.” Isaac murmured and stood, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just thinking I should maybe get a taxi home...” He said, throwing a considering look at the door.

“Psssssht.” Scott waved the idea away, “The bed’s huge, even for three of us, but,” he put his hand on his heart, “If you are worried about your virtue, I’ll make Allison sleep on the floor.” He ended with a grin which widened at Isaac’s disbelieving laugh.

“Oh my God.” He said covering his eyes and shaking his head, though he couldn’t quite cover up the amuse smile that played across his face.

“Seriously though.” Scott said, quieter, “If you want, I’ll sleep on the floor, I don’t mind...” He put a sincere expression on his face and hoped Isaac knew that he didn’t mean anything by it.

“No, it’s _your_ bed, I’ll take the floor, just, you know, if you have a spare pillow and blanket?”

“Oh give over,” Allison called from the bathroom, “neither of you are on the floor, we are sharing the big bed and that’s that.”

“That’s that.” Scott said mimicking her tone and Isaac ducked his head against the smile.  Every time he tried to hide his smile or his pleasure, it made Scott’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t really understand.  Standing, he walked over the Isaac and put a finger under his chin, raising his face up.  Now, though, the smile was gone, replaced by that look of nervous fear once more.  “Hey, don’t hide your smiles, they’re nice.” Scott murmured, blushing, unused to giving compliments to boys.

“Like your eyes.” Isaac whispered back, his own blue staring deep into Scott’s brown.

“Uh-huh.” Scott said, uselessly.  This close, their chests were almost touching, he could feel the heat the other boy gave off and, once again, Isaac’s presence made Scott feel things he’d never felt before.  He recognised the comfort of friendship and the strong protective desire to keep the taller boy safe but there was something sharp and not uncomfortable which drew him closer to the taller boy.

Before he could unpack his blurry thoughts anymore, the lock on the bathroom door clicked and Isaac span away, darting into the room as soon as Allison left.  “What’s his problem?” She asked Scott as she came out, clad only in one of his overlarge T-shirts.  It was one he hadn’t seen for months, so he must have left in London with her at some point in their relationship.

“I wondered where that had got to.” He said, picking at the edge of the shirt as she slid past him, trying to change the subject.

“No you didn’t, I doubt you noticed it was gone.  Is Isaac alright though?” She turned and started undressing him, something she always liked to do, especially when he was dressed well.

“Yeah, he’s just nervous, he’s always nervous I think.”

“What’s his story anyway?”

“I honestly don’t know, he’s dropped some hints, I think his Dad was a bit of a brute.” Scott ended, frowning at the door which Isaac had disappeared through.

“That’s awful, I really like him.” Allison said, finding a hanger for his jacket and reaching for his tie.

“Yeah, plus... you _know_ he has a crush on me right, I think this whole sharing a bed thing might be making him feel really awkward.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make him feel unawkward.”

“How we going to do that?” He asked as she started to unbutton his shirt. There was something familiar and sensual about the way she so expertly manoeuvred him that had his heart rate rocketing. 

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” She murmured slowly peeling off his shirt and pressing in against him as she did.  Through the cotton of the T-shirt, Scott felt absolutely nothing else between them and the hardness in his trousers started to swell and grow. 

“Errrrr... Scott.” Isaac called hesitantly from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” His voice caught a little and he tried again, moving away from Allison and to the door.  “Yeah mate?” He said clearer.

“Do you have anything I could borrow to sleep in?

Scott considered but answered as soon as he could. “Not really, I don’t sleep in anything and all my vests and things wouldn’t fit you.  We can sleep in our boxers though, if that’s alright? I mean, I don’t mind, do you Alli?” He half turned back to Allison.

“No, I don’t mind.” She called so Isaac could hear then dropped her voice. “Not at all.” And winked at Scott who rolled his eyes.

“Oh.” Isaac said followed by a lengthy silence until he slowly opened the door clutching his clothes to his chest and seemingly trying to shrink in on himself as small as possible.

“Come here with those and I’ll hang them up.” Allison said and held out her arms to him.  He gave Scott a small smile when he passed though his eyes were darting all over his friend’s exposed skin.  In return, Scott just nodded and tried not to stare at Isaac’s impressive physique as he went past.  The boy had muscle, his back and arms looked solid and firm, skin unblemished and pale but infinitely inviting.

Shaking his head to clear that last though away, Scott slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.  He quickly stepped out of his trousers and socks and adjusted himself in his boxers, willing himself to calm down.  Resolutely not thinking about his ex-girlfriend and his attractive friend on the other side of the door, Scott brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror.

What looked back was exactly the same thing that looked back every time he looked in the mirror.  Dark hair, crooked jaw, OK, sure, the eyes were a little more drunk than usual, but Scott was definitely still Scott... so why did he feel so nervous and unsure of himself. Shaking his head, he went back out into the bedroom to find Allison and Isaac under the covers of the bed, Allison on the left and Isaac in the middle.

“Hey.” He said and went to the cupboard to hang up the trousers, years of Allison’s pestering being well ingrained at that point.  He was well aware of two sets of eyes watching him closely as he put away his clothes and turned slowly to get into this bed. “You OK there?” He asked them, focusing primarily on Isaac.

“Yeah,” he gave a little cough and tried again as Scott peeled back the covers and slid in, careful not to get too close lest he spook Isaac.  “Allison said that you guys sleep right and left so I should take the middle?” He gulped as he ended and the almost perpetual nervous frown he wore when around Scott returned.

“It’s fine,” He sighed.

“What?” Allison asked, coming up on one elbow, looking over Isaac who seemed to try and flatten himself into the mattress, to be less in the way.

“Nothing.” Scott said, “Wouldn’t you rather I just slept on the floor, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable?” He said to Isaac, who just blushed but shook his head. 

“You’re not.” Isaac lied, Scott could tell it was a lie from the way his ears went pink and he couldn’t meet his gaze.

“You really are.” Allison said with a smile and both boys turned to her.  “I think it’s cards on the table time, right?” They both looked at her surprised.

“What?” Scott managed to ask, sitting up and looking at her blankly.

“Scott.” Allison sat up and swivelled so she was sitting cross legged facing them both.  Isaac took the pause as an opportunity to scoot up the bed and sit up with his back against the headboard.   “I love you, you know I love you, but, for so many reasons we aren’t a couple right now and that’s good. We work better as friends right now.” Scott’s jaw dropped at her openness and he glanced at Isaac to see him with his eyes screwed up shut and a wince on his face, clearly wishing he was anywhere else.  “That doesn’t mean,” she continued, “that I don’t find you sexy as hell and right now I want a piece of what you got.”

If Scott had been shocked before it was nothing on how he was feeling after that, but she still wasn’t finished. “Now, Isaac.” She turned to him as his eyes shot open, panic clear on his face.  “You have a _massive_ crush on Scott.” Isaac’s face instantly went beetroot red and he looked about ready to bolt or cry.

“Allison, that’s enough!” Scott barked, anger slowly replacing surprise at what his ex-girlfriend was saying, but she shushed him and scooped up one of Isaac’s hands, squeezing it tight.

“And that’s fine!” She finished, using her free hand to stroke the side of his face carefully.  Isaac seemed to almost flinch at the first touch but then just accepted it, quivering slightly.  “I knew it and Scott knew it too.”

“I’m sorry, I tried not to-“ Isaac said, red, teary eyes turning on Scott but his sentence fell apart and he just ducked his head and shivered again.

“Hey, buddy, it’s OK.” Scott said and took the other of Isaac’s hands in one of his, his other free hand he used to squeeze his friends shoulder, hating the quivering fear he felt there as much as he luxuriated in the feel of Isaac’s perfect skin under his fingers.

“No it’s not.” Isaac whispered. “I know you’re straight and I know you two are a thing, but... I dunno...” He shrugged, clearly trying to push Scott off him, but it just made him hold on tighter.

“I’m not done.” Allison said, kindly.  “I like you, Isaac.  A lot.  I think you’re smart, funny, handsome and one of the nicest guys I’ve met in a long time. You’re also sexy as fuck and the fact you don’t even know how hot you are makes you so much hotter.” Isaac blinked and looked at her strangely, though not as strangely as Scott, who looked at her with a mix of jealousy, confusion and pain.  “But... I think Scott likes you too.” She said directly at her ex-boyfriend who blinked at her.

“What? Of course I do. Isaac man...you’re ace.” He said, trying for a smile and maybe missing from the look of consternation on his face.

“No, Scott, I think you _like_ him.  Like you like me.” She nodded down at his crotch which was bulging significantly, exposed from when he sat up.

“Jesus!” He pulled at the duvet, quickly covering himself.  Blushing furiously, he looked away from them both.  “I’m not gay.” He muttered, trying not to sound like it was a bad thing, he didn’t want Isaac to feel he was saying that he minded that his friend liked guys.

“No, I know, _trust me_ ,” Allison said with a smile on her face, “I know! But... you can’t tell me that you don’t think Isaac’s one of the most good looking guys you’ve ever seen?” She reached out and grabbed at Isaac’s shoulders, spinning him in front of her, facing Scott.  She knelt on the bed behind him, hands slinking down over his shoulders and chest, lightly resting on his stomach, highlighting the perfect abs there.  Scott’s eyes were drawn to his ex’s fingers lightly brushing at the trail of hair above Isaac’s briefs.

The boy in question was beetroot red, and looking up at the ceiling, hands gripping the duvet tightly in front of him, hiding his legs and crotch.

“Allison, you’re embarrassing him.” Scott managed to eek out eventually. 

“Really?” She said and brought her lips down onto Isaac’s exposed shoulder.  The sound the boy in her arms made was part moan part gasp and he turned his head, exposing more of his neck to her.  She trailed kisses up his shoulder and up to his ear, soft lips and tongue flicking at the sensitive skin there, her eyes never leaving her ex-boyfriends.  “You like that Isaac?”

The boy just bit his lips and nodded, shifting a little, pressing back against Allison.  Scott’s mouth was dry and his heart pounding at the sight before him.  Whether or not he was gay, or liked Isaac in that way, it was clear he was massively enjoying what he was seeing.  Confusingly he couldn’t decide which one of the two beauties in front of him he wanted to be.  Under his lust-filled gaze, Allison nodded her head back, inviting him forward.

Scott shuffled awkwardly towards the pair until he was right in front of them, though still slightly apart. “Kiss me.” She breathed and Scott knew he would.  This was Allison.  His first love, his _one_ , he trusted her utterly.  Leaning forward though would put him in contact with Isaac though, a boy who he cared deeply for, a boy who he knew liked him but didn’t know what that meant. 

Gingerly, he rose up on his knees and leant in.  To stop himself from overbalancing though, he had to reach out and place a hand on Isaac’s chest.  The hot flesh under his hand drove him on and he pressed forward towards Allison.  As he did though, she leant back a little meaning that Scott had to lean in more so part of his chest went flush to Isaac’s.  The boy’s gasp was clear this time and he brought up a hand of his own to grip the one of Scott’s on his chest.

Allison had stopped moving and Scott’s lips found her’s over Isaac’s shoulder.  It was everything he remembered, but suddenly so much more.  He could just get the faint, lingering scent that Isaac had been wearing on her lips, could taste him on her tongue as they kissed.  It felt amazing.  Drawing in more of her he ended up crushing himself against Isaac and allowing his hand to be moved so that his thumb and fingers were tracing over his nipple.

It was so similar and yet so different to Allison.  Isaac was all hard muscles and flat chest, though the skin was as supple and smooth and when he rubbed at the sensitive nub under his hand he elicited the same shocked, lusty sound from Isaac that he did from Allison.  Breaking the kiss to look at his friend, to check he was OK after the gasp his teasing had caused, Scott realised that no matter what he might call himself, a part of him was deeply attracted to the boy in front of him.

“Now him.” Allison said, gently placing a hand at the back of Scott’s head.  As he was guided forward, Scott knew that without Allison there, without her prompting, he’d never had let himself cross this bridge, never do what he was about to do. 

Isaac’s face slowly turned to him, though he was quiet and still other than that.  Scott wondered whether Allison was guiding his friend’s head too, but that small thought vanished along with all other thoughts as Isaac’s eyes filled his vision.  This close, all walls were gone and Scott could see that, even then, his friend was still worried he’d be rejected, be found wanting in some way.  That insecurity physically hurt Scott and he found himself stroking at the side of Isaac’s face.  “Isaac.” He murmured once and Isaac’s eyes widened in surprise at the care and affection Scott put into his name and he sucked in one gasp before he let out a small, broken whimper.

Needing no more encouragement, Scott pushed forward gently and kissed Isaac.

It was soft and kind.  Neither moved for some time, neither full trusting what was happening, then Scott shifted slightly and deepened the kiss and Isaac surged forward, kneeling up into his friend, both hands running up Scott’s neck to end buried in the hair at the back of his head.  Tongues met and their kiss deepened, already all fears forgotten to this new desire.

With their movement the duvet fell away and as Isaac pressed forward Scott felt his friend’s erection grind in against his own.  Momentarily stunned at the unfamiliar feeling, he pulled back and looked down.  Both of them were visibly excited and Scott curiously slid his hand between them and palmed at Isaac’s length, gaining a lust filled moan of his name. 

As Isaac’s head rolled back slightly, Allison placed a hand at the side of his face and turned him so she could kiss his red, full lips.  The boy between them seemed happy to let himself be manhandled by the former couple so Scott continued to stroke the bulge in his briefs while leaning in to trail a row of kisses along the newly exposed stretch of skin at Isaac’s neck.

Isaac’s hand’s went up and held Scott’s mouth in place at the hollow of his neck, moaning into Allison’s mouth as his friend’s tongue flickered over the sensitive skin there.  None of the three could tell who instigated the slow collapse back onto the bed, but as they moved down the last pieces of clothing were removed and the night was spent exploring, hands, tongues and lips covering every piece of flesh they could.

Before Scott dropped off to sleep, carefully held between his two lovers, a small part of his brain worried at what this would mean.  But it was a small worry and it was completely drowned out by the happiness he felt in the arms of the woman he loved and the man who... the man who...

The thought remained unfinished as Scott sighed deeper into Allison and Isaac’s arms and dropped into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK - hopefully that was tasteful and not too 'off' for any of you...? :-D
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> G*


	9. Talk Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the party and Manchester United's first friendly.

Stiles opened the door and welcomed Caitlyn and Emily to their flat.  Scott and Danny waved from their place on the sofa though neither looked up from the game they were playing.  “Did you find us OK?” Stiles asked, accepting the bottle of wine graciously and taking the girls’ coats.

“Yeah, no problems.” Caitlyn said and looked all around the flat.  “This is huge!” She exclaimed and Stiled chuckled.  It was a pretty big place for just the two of them.  The door opened onto a large living space, it had two large sofas pointed at the TV and a separate dining area with a table big enough for ten.  The kitchen was behind that and there was two bedrooms heading off from the main living area, both with their own bathrooms. 

“It’s decent, yeah.” Stiles said with a smile.  It hadn’t looked quite as decent the Sunday before when he’d woken up to find Danny snuggled up into him; apparently the guy he liked liked to cuddle.  He’d probably spent a little too long enjoying that before getting up and waking Jackson and Matt.  He’d then made a giant pot of coffee and stared at the mess they’d got the flat in. 

Scott had appearing as soon as coffee was ready, quickly followed by Isaac who was pulling at one of Scott’s larger vest tops, trying to make it fit.  “When did the Twister come out...?” Stiles had asked to general shrugs from everyone.  The follow up question of “Why do we even have Twister?” was met with equally blank looks.

Isaac knew of a place nearby that delivered breakfast and, with much praising of his genius, they’d all ordered a large amount of food.  When it had arrived it had been pecked at around copious amounts water and coffee.  Danny had been annoyingly chipper and he and Allison had taken great delight in being loud and carefree as the rest of them nursed hangovers. 

Jackson and Matt had left first, closely followed by Allison and Scott who’d decided to go for lunch ‘to talk’, a phrase which always made Stiles shudder with trepidation. Interestingly, when they saw Isaac looking at them, with puppy-dog eyes from his space on the couch, they had invited him to join them. Stiles had watched the three of them leave and tried to work out what was going on, though failed utterly. Danny had stayed though, obviously. Together, the pair of them had cleaned and sorted the flat, earning them massive brownie points with Scott who had returned home and headed straight back to bed.  

They’d then had their awkward and silly conversation before agreeing to have a date.  It was Danny more than Stiles who insisted that they be as undate-like as possible.  He was worried that at some time in the future someone would use Stiles having a romantic dinner with a guy against him.  He had promised that their relationship wouldn’t be confined to the insides of their respective flats though. 

Their first date had been, despite that promise, dinner at Stiles’ flat.  Scott had taken advantage of Derek inviting him round ‘anytime’ to wangle a dinner invite and let his friend know he’d text before heading home, winking and grinning in a completely unacceptable way.  Stiles had been nervous while waiting for Danny, even though he knew that the other boy liked him, and that they were just having dinner.

When his date had arrived though, all nerves vanished and he’d just had a really nice evening.  They’d eaten the meal Stiles had prepared – the one the dietician had recommended – and drank sparingly.  They’d talked and talked and flirted a little and when Stiles’ phone went, letting him know Scott was on his way home, they’d kissed a little too.  It had been nice.  Very nice.

They’d agreed to wait until after Saturday to meet again, leaving Stiles to focus on his training and the first preseason game. The match on Saturday had been a friendly against AS Roma.  Louis van Gaal had called in the full squad and announced that while he was hoping to play everyone before the start of the season - he wanted to play the best team he could as it was vital they start off the season with a win.  Stiles had nodded and, while he still warmed up with everyone else, knew he wouldn’t be playing. 

He was right, and was happy to have been left off the pitch.  It had been a gruelling match with everyone run off their feet.  Hale had been furious at half time; none of the plays they’d worked together had been coming off and he’d railed at the older members of the squad, accusing them of not giving one hundred per cent.  Stiles had sat, wide eyed and stunned.

Like most of the team, they’d only been subjected to scowls, glares and the occasional disappointed remark.  Seeing the captain let loose on the team galvanised them and they’d attacked the second half with more vigor.  van Persie scored two within ten minutes and it was noticeable, even to Stiles that certain members of the team relaxed into the two goal advantage. 

The first goal AS Roma had got back was an absolute blinder and there had been nothing anyone could have done to stop it.  Their second though had been a litany of disaster, from Rooney’s lacklustre shot, to Van Persie’s poor tackle all the way down to deGea being off his line.  van Gaal had instantly subbed Rooney off for Scott and Hernandez went on for van Persie who was clearly not fully fit from his World Cup campaign.  Stiles had been on the edge of his seat from the moment his best friend was on the pitch.

He had watched as Hale crossed the ball in, slightly too short and Stiles had known, _known_ , that if he’d been placing that cross it would have been perfect for Scott, but instead, he’d had to check his run and was caught by the defenders.  Hale had held up a hand, acknowledging his error but after eighty-five minutes of running, it had been unsurprising.

Scott had another chance a couple of minutes later after a poor clearance from the AS Roma goalkeeper and he had taken full advantage of it.  The ball had rocketed into the back of the net and Stiles had been up and out of his seat, cheering as wildly as any dye-in-the-wool fan.  After that the final few minutes were hectic but uneventful and Manchester United had won.  While it was Van Persie who had score the brace – two goals in one game –everyone knew it would be the name Scott McCall that would be in the papers the next day.

That evening though, they’d invited their new friends round for dinner and to watch Match of the Day.  Isaac had begged off, but Danny and the girls had accepted.  Danny had arrived very shortly after they had as Scott had still been soaking in the bath, easing out his muscles after the short burst of intense activity that afternoon.  This had meant Danny and Stiles had a few minutes alone which was decidedly spent not talking.

Despite moving apart as soon as they heard Scott moving around in his room, he still gave the pair of them a knowing look and a smirk.  Stiles had told his best friend about what happened with Danny pretty much straight away and he was truly happy them both, though he did try to take credit for getting them together.

As Stiles carried everyone a beer from the kitchen, he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d got – not only was he dating a hot guy but a hot guy who got on well with his best friend.

“Do you know the score?” Stiles asked and the girls nodded.

“We were going to try and not, but then we were worried we’d say something wrong, so we checked before we came out.  Well done, Scott.” Emily said and Scott looked up for a moment and smiled.

“Cheers.” Then he was back to his game. 

“Don’t mind him.” Stiles explained. “He gets a bit... intense with Fifa. So... how you doing?” He asked and settled back, happy to listen to the couple talk about their studies and their lives.  Stiles tried to keep away from Danny, or even avoid looking at the other boy, lest he give away the change in their relationship.  During their awkward chat they’d agreed that, after Scott and Isaac, Caitlyn would be the first they’d tell, if they were still dating after a month.  Isaac had to be told so Danny had someone to talk to, just as Stiles had Scott.

The five of them shared a nice meal, chatted and laughed and retired back to the sofas to watch Jonathon Ross before the football highlights.  Stiles didn’t particularly like chat shows, but Derek Hale was the main guest on Jonathon Ross that night and he felt like he had to – that was his skipper. 

When the show started, Stiles sat back and half listened to the TV, half chatted with Emily who also professed not to like chat shows.  They stopped when Derek appeared on TV, greeting the host from the green room as was the format of the show and Stiles had to admit he looked very sharp – not at all like he’d spent ninety minutes that afternoon run ragged.  He was in a suit and his haired had been immaculately styled and stubble trimmed to an exact length.

“He is hot.” Caitlyn said and Emily flicked her ear, mock-glaring at her girlfriend.  “But not as cute as you.” She cooed and snuggled into the other girl for a kiss.

“Get off!” Emily laughed but pulled her girlfriend in for a sofa-snuggle. Stiles smiled at them and returned his attention to the TV.  The host made some asinine comment about his first guest needing to get home for an early night and introduced ‘The brand new captain of Manchester United – Derek Hale!’

The crowd applauded and cheered as Derek walked from the clutch of guests and out into the studio, waving and beaming a smile at the audience before shaking hands with Jonathon Ross. “He _is_ hot though.” Danny said, winking to Stiles who gave the other boy a very unimpressed look.  After that he returned his attention to the screen.

“Welcome, welcome and great to have you here.  First off, let’s say a big well done, yeah?” He asked the audience who all cheered wildly.  “One thing... you didn’t want to score yourself?” He asked, a cheeky smile on his face.

Derek, who had clearly been advised on not only the style of show, but the style of questions asked too, just laughed. “No, no... I’m happy to take a back seat if one of my teammates wants to take the game to them.”

“Like Scott McCall, there’s a player, right?”  There was more applause and Stiles shook his friend who chuckled and shook his head.

“Yeah,” Derek responded. “He’s been great, really focused and training hard, all of the new players have, but it was a great start.” 

“That’s right, and you should know, right? How old were you when you started playing for LA Galaxy?”

Derek gave a slight smile and nodded a few times saying: “Sixteen...”

“Wow, sixteen, when I was sixteen, well I can’t say what I was doing but it wasn’t that.”  He gave his patented look to the audience who laughed at the entendre before moving on.  “But that must have been a big decision to leave, am I right?”

“Well yeah, but, this is Manchester United, you know? As much as I loved LA Galaxy, I couldn’t pass this up.”

“And your better half, she didn’t mind the move?”

“Paige? No, she loves Europe and is happy to be over here.  Paige gets itchy feet... is that a saying you have?” He asked the crowd who murmured assent. “So likes the move, though... I think we both thought Manchester was closer to London than we thought it was when she took the job there.” He said to general amusement.

“For those not in the know.” The host told the audience, “Derek’s other half is Paige Madison, noted Cellist and international superstar.”  Derek laughed and nodded, looking pleased. “The two were high school sweethearts,” He paused for the crowd to ‘ooooooh’ appreciatively as a picture of a younger Derek and Paige was put up on the screen. “but have remained unmarried... so far...” He added with a smile which Derek returned.

“But the rest of your family...? Ah...Here they are.”  The host pointed to a massive screen where a family photo appeared and Stiles leaned in having never seen that before.  Derek looked younger, clean-shaven and was grinning standing between two strong looking parents, two sisters sitting in front of him.

“That’s them.” Derek leaned forward to get a better look at the picture. “Where did you get that? Look at me!” He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his jaw.  “But yeah, they are all in California.  One of my sisters is coming over for Chirstmas and my Uncle is over a lot.”

“This is your Uncle Peter Hale, business man extraordinaire? And you stayed with him growing up, didn’t you?”

Derek shook his head a little, “Only sometimes, LA was quite a commute from my home town and, when I started out, Uncle P had a house in Los Angeles so I’d stay there, it was just easier.”

“But you’ve spoken a lot about how much your uncle means to you and were very visible in the equal marriage debate in California?”

“Yeah, my Uncle Peter and Uncle Duke have always just been my uncles, it seemed insane that they couldn’t get married like my other uncles and aunts.”

“And you were one of the few sportspeople to join the debate, weren’t you?”

“That’s right...” Derek said, sounding suspicious.

“In fact, we have a picture of you joining the debate here...” He pointed to the board and a picture flashed up of Derek standing leaning against a goalpost, dripping wet wearing only a pair of football shorts.  The crowd whooped and cheered as Derek hung his head and laughed.

“No, OK. He’s hot.” Emily agreed and Caitlyn laughed in her girlfriend’s arms.

Back on the screen Derek was talking again. “Yeah... that was the photoshoot for the article, but we _did_ talk about serious things, honestly.  That wasn’t even the worst shot...”

“Oh you mean this one?” The host responded quickly, seemingly surprised Derek had set it up that easily but Stiles knew it would have been easily rehearsed in advance.  The photo changed to one of Derek in jeans and a leather jacket hanging off his arms as he roared straight into the camera.  He was wearing prosthetic eyebrows and a variety of other special effects to make him look like a werewolf all the way down to the claws, fangs and blood-red eyes.

“What the f-“ Stiles said and laughed, joining his friends and the audience.

“Still think he’s hot?” Scott asked the room, smugly.

“Yes!” Caitlyn, Emily and Danny all responded.

Jonathon Ross was speaking again: “So ... can you explain this...?”

“Yeah... my photoshoot was for OUT and after I’d done my shoot-“

“Where they poured water on you?”

“Yeah, that one, I heard them talking about their Halloween special and getting celebrities to dress up as mythical creatures.  I asked if I could do it and they said yes... so... I was a werewolf.” Derek shrugged and smiled at the audience who applauded on cue.

“And a very good werewolf you are too.  So, back to the family.  Are your uncles married now? Because California... it’s one of the States where you can right?”

“That’s correct, and yes, they are, which was great. A great day.”

“It must be lovely to see the progression like that, like a society changing.”

“It really was, but there’s still a long way to go.” Derek shifted a sat forward a little. “Like in football. Everyone thought that after Robbie Rogers came out and played again, there’d be a load of players coming out right? But where are they?” Not really expecting a response, Derek carried on seemingly missing the look of confusion on the host’s face and panicky looks to the production team; clearly Derek was going off topic. “Like, just last week, one of our new signings told me he was gay but had no intention of coming out.  He was adamant about it and I think that’s a real shame.  This is a great kid with a great future ahead of him and instead of thinking about football he’s worried about the crowds and press reaction if he came out.  That’s not fair, he needs role models....” He said, nodding decisively.  “In fact...” Derek paused as Jonathon held up a hand to stop him.

Stiles felt himself go completely still and Scott sat up straighter.  It took Danny and the girls a couple of seconds longer to figure out what Derek had just said.  Apparently the production company on the TV figured it out too as Jonathon Ross was had his finger in his ear and was listening intently.  “Errr... Derek, I’m going to stop you there and remind you we are live just because... you know... lawsuits.”  There was a nervous laugh over the general hubbub of the audience discussing what had just been said.  Derek looked annoyed more than anything else and tried to plow on.

“No, that’s not what I wanted to say-“ He was cut off before he could continue.

“Let’s get back on track.  So, a new season, a new manager, what impact do you think Louis van Gaal has had on the squad.” Jonathon Ross said, clearly still listening to the voices in his earpiece. Derek was silent for a few seconds but then started to reply, giving out soundbites the Stiles recognised from sessions with the PR teams. 

All five of them jumped as Scott’s phone rang.  He answered it quickly. “Hi Mum, how-“  He broke off and stood up. “No Mum, I’m not gay.  I’d have told you if I was...” He walked away from the sofas but stayed in the room, keeping one eye on the TV. “Mum, you literally walked in on me and Allison that time, I’m not gay! Hang on... would it matter if I was?” He asked, turning the tables.  “Uh-huh... that’s what I thought.” The following pause was longer and when Scott spoke again it was carefully.  “I can’t tell you that Mum.  If I did know I’m sure I’d have been sworn to secrecy, that’s if I knew though.” He said, not looking at Stiles.

“Are you OK Stiles?” Emily asked and Stiles blinked at her, trying to sort through the rampaging thoughts and emotions rushing through him.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” He eventually mumbled and Danny was instantly there, walking him to the bathroom and helping him splash cold water on his face.  When thought returned, Stiles tucked his head into Danny’s shoulder and held on, taking as much strength as he could from hug; the other boy seemed to sense that Stiles didn’t want to talk and just held him, one large hand rubbing circles into his back.  He waited until he could breathe easily again they went back out where Scott was still on the phone and Caitlyn and Emily were on their phones, tapping at them.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked Scott when the other boy hung up. 

“Marin wants to see us first thing in the morning, I think it’ll be me and you, Jackson, Matt, Luke and Ander...” The two other Manchester United signings. “All she said was that she wanted us to stay off twitter and don’t make any comments to anyone.” Stiles nodded, that sounded right.  Manchester United would want to circle the wagons and control the story which meant no comments except the official statement, whatever that would be.

Caitlyn stood up.  “We should go.” She said and nodded down to Emily who stood and Stiles looked up at them; these almost friends who were about to leave.

“It’s me.” He said and felt Danny’s hand squeeze his leg in support as Scott came and sat down on his other side.  “He was talking about me. I’d like it if you could stay... please?” He said, nodding to the sofa the girls had been sitting on.  Stiles took a deep breath and just sighed.

“I take it you didn’t know he was going to say that?” Emily asked.

Stiles shook his head.  “I didn’t even mean to tell him, he overheard Scott and I talking and made me tell him... now this.  Oh.” He looked at Caitlyn, “You owe Danny fifty quid.”

She barked out a laugh and nodded.  “I wouldn’t have said anything.  You didn’t have to tell us.” She said, kindly.

“No, it’s fine... I’ve thought about telling you and we agreed we’d tell you if this dating thing takes.” He said, nodding to Danny whose fingers were rubbing circles into his leg, comforting him.

“Are you two dating!?” Emily asked, surprised.

“A little.” Stiles confirmed.  “God, this is fucked up... what are the chances that no one’s bothered.”

“I’d say slim to none.” Caitlyn said, showing Stiles her phone.  He took it and looked at the very basic website which had a bar chart with the six of Manchester United’s signings faces at one end.  It was called “Guess the gay!” And visitors could vote on each of them.  As Stiles took the phone, Jackson’s bar was highest, followed by his own and then Luke’s. 

“What the fuck...?” He asked no one as he refreshed the screen watching the bars and vote counters change.  Scott moved and looked over his shoulder before shaking his head.  Scott had the lowest count, no doubt owing to his public romance with Allison, though Matt’s was low, again no doubt owing to his court cases.

“Twitter’s kind of... exploded...” Emily said, not looking up from her phone.  “People are scouring your feeds looking for clues.”  Stiles quickly wracked his brain trying to think of anything that might point out his sexuality.  “There’s a few fake accounts too, but you’re all verified so that’s not going anywhere.”

Stiles shook his head at what was happening, though he still wasn’t sure.  “What should I do?” He asked Scott who shook his head.

“I don’t know man... what do you want to do?”

“I just want to play football.” He admitted.  He hated that it sounded cowardly, but it was true.  Derek Hale may have made a perfect avenue for him to come out publicly but he didn’t want it.

“Then do that.” Danny said.  And they all turned to him.  “Look, Hale hasn’t outed you, not really.  Yes he said one of the six of you told him you were gay, but that doesn’t prove anything.  If no one comes forward it will all blow over.  I bet Manchester United will control the story for you and you’ll just have to be careful for a while.”

Stiles nodded.  It scared him but he nodded.  “What do you think?” He asked Scott.

“I think Danny’s right.  Once the season starts and we can play properly, it’ll all blow over.  You’ve been careful with twitter, so have I, your Dad’s not going to tell anyone, nor are any of us, or Isaac.  I’m sure Marin will have a plan, she always does, but I bet it’ll be twitter silence from all of us and a statement that we are all focused on training.” Stiles nodded.

“Christ, I should phone my Dad.”  He said and took himself off the quiet peace of his bedroom.  It connected after a couple of rings.

“Hi son, how you doing?” He said, over a loud ruckus.

“Are you at the pub?” Stiles asked and had to wait while his Dad got outside where it was significantly quieter.

“Right, what were you saying?”

“I was asking if you were in the pub...” Stiles said with a smile, knowing his Dad couldn’t exactly lie.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was drinking that soda water shit you make me drink...?” He asked laughing and Stiles rolled his eyes.  He’d fought battles over his Dad’s diet and drinking but knew what a weekend drink in the local with his friends was sacrosanct.

“Yes Pops, of course I’d believe you because lying to your only child is a grave and dreadful sin.” Stiles said and his Dad laughed.  “Look... you won’t have seen it but Derek Hale was on Jonathon Ross tonight and he kinda outed us, me... well, not really.”

“Stiles, what are you talking about?”

“He said, on live telly no less, that one of the new Manchester United players was gay, so that means everyone’s trying to figure out who it is, so you might get some comments or calls from the press.”

“OK. What do I say?” He asked and Stiles stopped, unsure.  “Stiles?”

“I don’t know Dad.” He admitted.

“Well... are you... are you telling people?” He asked and Stiles could practically see him looking around to see if there was anyone eavesdropping.

“No, I don’t think so.  I’ve told some new friends we made up here, nice people, you’d like them... oh....” He said, thinking about how he was dating one of these new friends.

“Stiles? Are you there?”

“Yeah... errrrrr... there’s maybe someone that you’ll want to meet? I might be kind of, sort of, dating him...”

“Really!? Huh... OK... Well, whenever, I trust you...” He said and Stiles smiled.

“Look, I’m going to talk to people at Man U and see if they have any advice for you, kay, for now, just ‘no comment’ I think.”

“OK. Well, I’m here if you need me.  Look, I’ve a couple of days off next week, why don’t I come up?” He asked and Stiles nodded.

“That’d be brilliant.” He admitted, already looking forward to seeing his Dad.  “I’ll call you back.”

They said goodbye and Stiles rang Marin who answered immediately.  “Stiles, I was just about to call you.” She greeted him.

“I’ll bet.” He mumbled, not sure if he wanted her to hear or not. “Scott told me we’re all meeting tomorrow?”

“Yes, that’s right. We’ll send a car at nine.  I was going to try and get you all in earlier but we’ve already started getting press requests and I think there’ll be cameras here from the start of the morning shows so the cars will be tinted and will take you to the side entrance away from the cameras.  Will you and Scott be OK sharing a car?”

“Of course... why wouldn’t we?” He asked and heard the first traces of exasperation creeping into her voice.

“I don’t know Stiles, there are a lot of things I don’t know apparently.” She snapped.

“What? Haven’t you spoken to Hale?” He asked, surprised.

“For one minute in the commercial break, all he told me was to tell you all he was sorry for his blunder and that he was emphatically not telling me, or Louis, or anyone else anything else, so we’re treating you all as one group.”

“OK.” Stiles said, any relief he felt swamped by how unsettling the entire evening was.  “Look, my Dad was asking, what does he say if people ask him about me.”

“He can say what he likes.” She said carefully, no doubt hoping to avoid any pressure on someone not part of the Manchester United business; she had no problem pressuring people within her remit though.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t want to mess anything up?”

“OK, well, he can say that he knows that you and your team are handling the situation and all questions should be directed to me.”

“So, essentially... no comment.” He clarified.

“Yes, though... he _can_ comment Stiles, if he wants to.  Ander thinks his Mother will want to say something, but then, she is heavily religious.”

“No, I think he’s good... more of a ‘head down and plow on’ kind of a guy, you know.”

“OK. Well, I’ll see you in the morning then?”

“Sure thing.”

“Oh, and Stiles... no twitter, no facebook and I’d turn your phone off if I was you.”

“Right OK.  Ermmm... Aren’t you going to ask...?” He said, not wanting her to ask per se, but surprised she hadn’t.

“No I’m not.  If any of you have anything you want to tell me, you will, in the meantime it’s my job to protect your privacy, all of your privacy and that’s what I’ll do.” She said, calm and authoritative.   

“OK, well, thanks... See ya.” He said and hung up.  He rattled off a quick text to his Dad who responded that he’d do as Marin asked and that he loved him, which made Stiles feel a little better.  On returning to the living room he found everyone on their phones, or on one of the tablets. “So... what’s happening?”  He asked and they looked up at him.

“About the same really.” Emily said.  “A lot of all of your tweets around the Olympics are getting retweeted – most of you tweeted about Tom Daley then and Scott and Jackson both mentioned him when he came out.  Jackson seems to be what everyone is thinking – there’s a lot of pictures of him at fashion shows with designers and out celebrities.”

“Christ, have you heard from him?” He asked Scott who shook his head.

“I tried his phone, but it’s off.” Stiles nodded and passed on Marin’s message about turning the phones off.

“Manchester have put out a statement.” Danny said and checked they were all looking at him before he read it out. “Our player’s private lives are their own affairs and we expect the press to respect that.  We are proud of all our players and their dedication to the team and the game they love.  We will happily discuss what great players they are but will not discuss their private lives.”

“Well... that’s... something.” Stiles said looking for some help or clarification.

“I think they are just trying to remind everyone we’re footballers first and everything else second.”

“Good luck with that!” Caitlyn snorted.  “Look... I’m not saying it won’t blow over, but this is catnip for the tabloids.  A closeted Premier League player...? At Manchester United!?”  She raised her eyebrows and spread her hands. “That’s got to be a story right? And... no matter what happens, win or lose, the papers will keep coming back to it.  I don’t think it’s going to go away anytime soon is all I’m saying.”  She finished with a sad smile.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Scott said trying to give Stiles a reassuring glance.

“We better go.” Danny said, and Stiles looked up surprised. “If the press really are interested and turn up at your flat you don’t want a gay guy and lesbian, bi couple leaving your building, do you?”

“I want to say I don’t care...” He said but Danny chuckled and gave him a hug.

“It’s no big deal, I’m just sorry I can’t stay...” He said, hugging Stiles tightly again. “Try and rest, I’ll call you when I get in, and I’ll speak to Isaac.” He said, waving to Scott as he left.  Caitlyn and Emily hugged him too and promised to stay in contact before leaving.

“Tell Isaac I’ll speak to him tomorrow.” Scott told Danny, not looking at Stiles, who once again had to wonder what was going on there.

He and Scott both agreed that the best thing to do would be to get an early night, but the fact remained that three hours later they were both still up and scanning through twitter and the internet worriedly reading all the speculation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, oh dear Derek... what a mistakeah to makeah!
> 
> Thoughts...?
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> G*


	10. Response 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' Chris Forest at the BBC moderates a little chat...

# BBC Sport: Football

# Gossip column: Hale’s blunder and the return of Manchester United

For a list of confirmed transfers, check out the [transfers page.](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/transfers/)

Visit our [manager ins and outs page](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/27656795) for a list of all the current bosses in the top five leagues in England and the Scottish Premiership.

## TRANSFER GOSSIP

 

Return to form for van Gaal and Manchester United? – **Sunday Times**

**London celebrates as all teams win opening friendlies.** [ **Sunday Express** ](http://www.express.co.uk/sport/football/494825/I-m-a-Mario-fan-Brendan-Rodgers-confirms-Liverpool-want-Balotelli)

Scott McCall – dream signing for Man U? **Sunday Mail**

 

The end of the old Guard? Did McCall’s goal spell the beginning of the end for Rooney? **Guardian**

 

Louis van Gaal praises new blood and warns that ‘you haven’t seen anything yet!” [ **Sunday Mirror**](http://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/transfer-news/arsenal-vs-manchester-united-transfer-3954490)

 

It’s the start of the new season! Almost… this weekend sees the first friendlies being played and a welcome return to an on form Manchester United. Let us know your opinions. Contact us on Facebook, Twitter and through the BBC website.  


_10:00 Chris Forest (for BBC Sport):_

Good morning everyone! Well… somehow I feel that the football chat might be overtaken somewhat by speculation over Derek Hale’s comments on a chat show not on our stations.  Please _try_ and keep your comments to the football and be careful of what you post.  We’re on a five minute delay today and I’m joined by a couple of BBC lawyers too so your posts may take a while to come up and some might not at all.

_10:06 ChristianM_

I don’t see what the big deal is? So what if one of them is gay… If it is McCall does it make his goal any better? Or worse?

_10:06 SophieB_

It’s about time someone in the Premiership came out.  I hope that one of the six takes it as the opportunity is is…

_10:06 ToffeeBlue_

Hale had to know what he was saying though right? I know he’s American but he can’t be that thick.

_10:07 Chris Forest_

Well, that was an interesting experience – lots of comments blocked by the lawyers.  Mind your language! Interesting that they let the American comment through though… I wonder if they check mine.

_10:12 BBC Lawyer_

Yes we do.

_10:12 LeoM_

Ignoring the speculation (because it’s obvious!) McCall’s goal was good, but it was Van Persie which got the first two and Hale who was the presence in the game.  A resurgence for Man U? We’ll see?

_10:12 Jake S_

Hale’s blunder? No danger… he knew what he was doing, ain’t no way he wasn’t wanting to out the guy… Thought Shaw looked a bit lost at the back there, maybe he’s not fitting in… for some reason?

_10:14 Chris Forest_

Good point LeoM – Hale was everywhere yesterday. 

_10:18 PeterP_

This is pointless… why can’t we speculate on which one of the players is gay? If you’ve got lawyers there they’ll know it’s not against the law to say “I think that…” Had two comments blocked and I’ve used no bad language, just shared an opinion… bad call BBC

_10:24 Chris Forest_

Lawyers have spoken to other lawyers and we’re opening up the debate a little – IS THE PREMIERSHIP READY FOR IT’S FIRST GAY PLAYER? 

_10:29 Nathan B_

I don’t think it matters whose gay or not but Man U only just scraped a win yesterday – the first half was just bad and Rooney looked ready to collapse at 70  mins…

 

_10:30 Josh H_

I think the Premiership is ready and what’s more it better be! There’s no way whichever one it is isn’t coming out by the start of the season proper – too much pressure.

_10:30 Carol W_

I don’t know if they are? Where are the policies? When they had the stamp out racism thing it came from the FA – they’ve said nothing on gays in football have they? Will fans face bans for homophobic chants? Will clubs be fined? No one’s come out because no one knows what they’ll face when they do.

_10:31 HarryB_

It’s Whittemore for sure! He’s always linked with these models but never for long and there’s never a break up story.

_10:31 BeckyK_

I think Hale was talking about Stilinkski. McCall has that archer gf, Shaw is dating that reality star, Ander has had gfs in Spain and Daehler’s had all that trouble in Cardiff. That leaves Whittemore and Stilinkski and I recon it’s Stilinkski… or could be both?

_10:35 Chris Forest_

Thanks for the question CarolW – The FA have backed Football v Homophobia and have a toolkit for players and teams to suggest ways to be inclusive of the LGBT community.  Not sure how wide spread it is though.

_10:36 Dave B_

I think it’s Whittemore too – ain’t no way someone that pretty is straight!

_10:36 Sophie R_

I just feel really sorry for whoever it is – they must be going through hell.

_10:38 Redordead_

Whoever it is isn’t going to last long in the squad. There’ll be an ‘Accident’ in training and that’ll be him gone.  Man U aren’t going to want someone like that in their squad.

_10:39 Joey B_

Premiership is no place for gays to push there agenda, it should be about the sport.  If theres a gay in the squad he should just not tell anyone and play the game that’s the way they get respect.

_10:42 Chris Forest_

That’s a fair point SophieR – one of these six guys must be having a pretty hard time right about now.  What kind of reception do you think they’ll get when they play?

_10:44 Leo E_

Oh my god Redordead – what kind of world are you living in!? That’s not going to happen, these guys are professional.  If you can play, you can play… right?!

_10:44 ToffeeBlue_

Redordead and Joey B – you two are so behind the times and the reason no one’s come out. I don’t know who it is and don’t care I just hope that when they do come out, they get more support than this.

_10:45 Chris Forest_

Come on guys.  No one’s going to be deliberately injured.

_10:46 NathanB_

Joey B – why should he have to ‘shut up’? Footballers talk about their wives and girlfriends all the time, why shouldn’t this guy be able to talk about his boyfriend (if he had one) Or do you just find it icky?

_10:47 Chris Forest_

OK – lets get back to football chat shall we… tensions seem to be running a bit high… Manchester United away to Championship’s Millwall in next week’s friendly? What do we think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	11. Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Derek's blunfer at Old Trafford.

Stiles tried not to shrink back from the windows as the car slowly rolled past the fences holding back the paparazzi.  Rationally, he knew the tinted windows would block any pictures of them, but that didn’t stop the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach growing.  Looking over at Scott, the other boy seemed relatively unconcerned, but Stiles thought he could detect a slight tightness to his eyes and he was playing with his smartphone, clearly waiting to hear back from someone, Allison probably.

They’d talked only a little that morning.  Neither had slept well, though Stiles had only managed a couple of hours.  Both admitted to spending most of the night checking through twitter and watching news updates about Derek’s misstep ripple out around the web.  Unsurprisingly all the gay news sites had picked it up – Pinknews and Attitude in the UK first, then OUT and Instinct in America and even DNA in Australia.  All of them crouched it in terms of whether the Premier League was ready for an out gay player, but none went as far as to suggest which of them it may be.  It only really exploded though when sites like Buzzfeed and Gawker started posting the story.

For some reason, Stiles found himself continually returning to the ‘Guess the Gay!’ site.  It wasn’t flashy, or well-built, it wasn’t as interesting as Twitter or Tumblr, but he found it irresistible.  Just seeing the bars going up or down, the percentage of votes for each of them, his own grinning face at the top of his bar, it made it all real.  He was holding steady at around thirty per cent of the votes, Jackson was the clear front runner though.

It wasn’t long before the car, with their carefully quiet driver, pulled up at the lesser used entrance to the Old Trafford complex.  One of Marin’s handlers, an impressively direct woman called Braeden, greeted them and directed them to a meeting room they’d used before for one of their many PR seminars. 

They entered into an already full room, clearly the last to arrive.  Marin was there, obviously, as were Jackson, Matt, Luke and Ander though Derek Hale and Louis van Gaal being there was a surprise to both boys.  Foresaking the coffee, Stiles led his friend over to their manager and skipper, greeting them both quietly.

“Look guys,” Derek said carefully ensuring he looked at neither longer than the other. “I’m really sorry about yesterday, I wish it’d had gone differently, but I am sorry for all the trouble this is going to cause you.”

Scott waved it away quickly. “It’s OK.”  Though Stiles just nodded, accepting the apology.  Of everyone in the room, it was only the three of them who knew exactly who Derek was apologising too.  While he would acknowledge the apology, he wasn’t ready to just wave it away; he was still coldly angry about how Derek had spoken so carelessely.

The manager spoke next.  “I am just to say, if either of you want to talk at all about anything.  Marin can get you to see someone, or my door is always open.” The older man went for a smile, though it didn’t quite come through.

“What?! Like a psychiatrist?” Stiles asked, more confused than worried.

“Ya, we have a number of sports psychiatrists, but each will be able to talk to you should you wish to talk to someone about your... feelings.” He finished, clearly not wanting to say ‘sexuality.’  “Please though, not to change feelings, to have a support?” He clarified and Stiles nodded, breathing easier.  The last thing he needed was someone in his life who thought that being gay was something which could be cured.  “Ah, I think...” Louis said, nodding behind them.

Stiles turned to see Marin quietly gathering everyone in at the table.  They took the nearest seats available to them, meaning that Stiles ended up next to Jackson who leaned over and whispered: “Did you get Hale’s apology too?”

“Yep.” He nodded and glanced over at his captain to see him resolutely staring forward.

“Bullshit if you ask me.  I think he wants all this.”  Stiles frowned.

“You OK man?”

“Yeah, I’ve had rumours about me for years, you try being this good looking and not have rumours, I really don’t care.  But one of you five must be having a pretty shit time right now and I’m not that impressed with our US leader, know what I’m saying?” Stiles nodded, knowing it was the best way to get the other boy to stop talking.  He hadn’t really thought that much about the extent to which Derek’s blunder had been a mistake; it didn’t seem to make that much difference – whatever his purpose, there they all were.

“Thank you all for coming.” Marin said, succinctly.  “This will be a relatively short meeting, but I’ll be available to each and every one of you at a moment’s notice should you need me.  Now, before we go any further.  Derek would like a moment.” She said and sat, folding her hands in front of her.

Their captain stood and cleared his throat as all pairs of eyes focused up to him.  “I want to apologise again for inadvertently breaking one of your trusts.  To that person in particular I am especially sorry.” Derek was staring straight ahead, clearly not wanting to address any one in particular lest it give more away than he already had.  “But all of you are now facing a great deal of intrusion into your private lives, and for that I am sorry to you all.  While I understand that you may not want my support right now, please know that you have it and that if you want to talk, about anything, even if it’s to yell, my door’s open too.” He sat heavily and Stiles tried not to watch him too carefully.

Really, this was all his captain’s fault.  If Derek had been more careful, Stiles’ secret wouldn’t be in danger. Yet, despite that, he felt his anger drain away.  He himself had been thinking more and more about coming out, especially with he and Danny becoming whatever he and Danny were.  But now Isaac knew, and Caitlyn and Emily, added to Scott and his Dad and no one had been anything other than supportive.  He knew none of them would say anything so wasn’t particularly worried about the press finding him out.

What he was worried about though was the added pressure and how it could affect his game. While he knew he was a good footballer, Stiles also knew that he wasn’t world class like Hale, or even potentially world class like Scott.  He only had a few seasons to make as money as he could to set him and his Dad up for the future and he didn’t want anything stopping that.  Once again he felt like a coward but, he tried to reason, wasn’t there something noble about his sacrifice too?

“Thank you.” Marin said, standing once more and pulling Stiles from his thoughts.  “Now.  No one here will ask you about your sexuality – your private life is your private life.  However, should you wish to talk to us so we can help with privacy or security or assist you in anyway, that is why I am here.  It is my job to make sure that you are happy and ensure you are able to focus on the reason you are all in this room – to be the best footballers you can be.”

“Yeah. That’s great love.” Daehler sneered from across the table, “but how does that help with the news crews outside our homes?” He was sitting back in his chair, arms folded, clearly annoyed. 

“Yes.  Or them contacting our families?” Ander Herrera asked leaning forward. 

Marin held up a hand.  “We are speaking to the news outlets and press.  They enjoy a lot of access to us at the moment and that will be withdrawn should they overstep their bounds, however, _however_ -“ She overrode Matt who’d opened his mouth to speak again. “they have freedom of the press to broadcast from where the news is and that is one of the suggestions we have for you.” She looked around the room at each of them.  “Until the friendly on Wednesday we’d like you to stay in the compound.  There are plenty of suites and Braeden can go to your homes and collect any particulars you may need.  If you are not at your residences, the press will quickly leave them alone.” She reasoned and Stiles nodded thoughtfully.  Besides his toiletries and phone charger he couldn’t imagine many things he’d need from his flat.

“So what? Because one of these guys is a poof we’re all under house arrest?” Matt grumbled, glaring at Marin.

“Hey!” Scott and Derek both barked at Matt simultaneously, though both looked at each other before Derek continued.  “That’s not happening.  No one, and I’ll talk to the full squad later, is to use any word like that, at all, got it?! We are a team.” He pointed at Matt threateningly who glared at his captain before nodding. 

“It’s not house arrest.  It’s merely a suggestion.” Marin said as if there’d been no interruption.  “We think it may be a good idea, but you are free to do as you please Mr Daehler.” The man in question just shook his head sadly and gave the woman trying to help him a piteous look.  Stiles’ mild dislike blew up into full blown disgust at that alone.  Whether the stories out of Cardiff were true or not, clearly Matt Daehler was a massive tool.  “The closer you are to us, the more we are able to control the story.  And that is one of football.” She looked to Louis van Gaal who stood to address them.

“Wednesday we have a game against Millwall.  You will all play, and you will all play well.  I expect no one of you to reflect badly on the team.  This story is, and will be, a distraction, but to withhold you from playing will only make it continue.  Shaw, Herrera, Daehler and Whittemore you will all start. McCall, Stilinksi you will both be subbed on in the second half depending on where and when you are needed.”  Each of them nodded; it made sense.

Scott and Stiles played best together , that was common knowledge though obviously the coaches will have noticed that from their training sessions too and seeing as Scott had played, and scored, already they had less need to show him off.  Luke Shaw and Ander Herrera had both played professionally for other clubs and were more used to first flight football so were therefore more likely to last a full ninety minutes.  Starting Matt and Jackson gave their manager options to sub them out later, should he need to.  Despite saying that each would play, Stiles knew that if Manchester United were struggling it would be unlikely for him to be put on.  van Gaal was new and desperately needed a successful preseason to avoid the fan backlash Moyes had been subjected to.

Marin spoke again.  “For today, we will be monitoring the press, talking to our contacts and ensuring that you are safe and secure.  You will be training with the squad after this meeting, though I need you to remain in order to transfer your social media accounts to Braeden.”

“What, why?” Jackson asked, sitting up, seemingly paying attention for the first time.

“Because, we _will_ control this story.  The only way that becomes impossible is if you add to the conversation without it coming through us. I don’t need any of you getting wound up, or drunkenly tweeting, posting or commenting on anything without my knowledge.  So, for now, Braeden will manage your online presence.”

“But I have obligations.” Jackson protested and Marin nodded.

“Of course. We are aware, we will continue your tweets for Diesel and Braeden will promote appropriate fashion lines for you.  We know what we are doing.  Mr Stilinski’s account for instance will continue to have numerous tweets about upcoming Marvel films in the same way that Mr McCall’s will continue to have poorly spelt, grammatically incorrect tweets about all the food he misses eating.” Stiles looked at his friend who grinned about how exactly correct that summation of his tweeter feed was.

“Can we keep our phones and computers though?” Luke asked from his end of the table, voicing a concern Stiles had though hadn’t wanted to share.

“Yes.  I trust you will not contact anyone directly or give any comments.  I would suggest not answering any calls from numbers you don’t know and disable your voicemail functions.  With all the awareness of phone hacking, I doubt any paper would try it, but nonetheless...”

“What about seeing people?” Scott asked, no doubt thinking of Stiles and Danny, asking to be a good friend.

Marin hesitated. “You don’t know that many people in Manchester do you?” She asked and Scott squirmed a little in his seat.

“No.” He admitted at last.

“I am not going to tell you not to see your friends.” The slight pause before she said ‘friends’ was noticeable to Stiles only because he was listening for it, or perhaps he was imagining it.  “But, be aware that anyone you are seen out with will be instantly under immense scrutiny, especially if...” She trailed off and spread her hands, looking only vaguely apologetic.  She no doubt knew about Danny and Isaac, neither particularly hid their sexuality, though it made Stiles slightly uncomfortable to think about putting either of their friends through the kind of scrutiny the British press could pour on them.  “For now,” she continued, “I’d think carefully about social engagements and, if you have concerns, please, talk to me. I _am_ here to help after all.”

“Errrr... My Dad’s thinking of coming up after the Millwall game, will we still be staying here then?” Stiles asked.

“I doubt it, but even if most people are, I think having your father here will be fine, the press won’t be interested in that.” She said and Stiles nodded, grateful at least that he’d still be able to see his father. “If there are no more questions...” She paused but no one else said anything.  “I’ll leave you to work with Braeden then Mr van Gaal has instructions.”  She nodded to the manager who stood again.  When he did, Derek stood too and made excuses to leave.  Stiles knew that he’d be going to meet the squad and hopefully ensure that none of them raised this issue during training.

“Right.  It’s business as usual, we’ve a game on Wednesday and I expect that to be your focus.  McCall, I want you and Whittemore to be on corners...” van Gaal went through where they’d be and what they’d be doing that day and Stiles tried not to breathe too heavy a sigh of relief. 

It felt good being part of such a massive machine.  He could retreat behind the huge, protective wall of Manchester United FC and focus on what he wanted to focus on.  While Luke and Matt grumbled about staying in the compound, neither was really that concerned and Stiles thought they were complaining for complaining’s sake more than anything else. 

Trying to put everything else out of his mind he looked up to see Ander Herrera coming his way to talk about the midfield strategy their manager had just asked them to go over.  With a quick shoulder squeeze to Scott to say thanks and goodbye, he followed his teammate over to the refreshment table to get a drink while they waited for Braeden. 

Mental steeling himself, Stiles forced his mind into thinking about football and football only and resolved to put all thoughts of sexuality and coming out firmly to the back of his mind.

 

*             *             *

 

Stiles resolve to focus on the football lasted until they joined the rest of the squad after their meeting with Marin.  The six new signings had all joined the main squad at the same time and every single member had stopped and watched them approach.  Stiles could feel himself going red and slowing down. 

Luckily Scott was on hand to save him, as ever, this time with a steady hand surreptitiously on the small of his back urging him forward.  From their position at the back of the group, Stiles knew no one would have seen the small hesitation or show of support, but once again, he was immensely grateful for Scott being there; he didn’t know how he’d cope without his best friend.

Derek’s voice rang out across the open, silent training ground long before the new signings got the squad reminding them all that they had work to do.  Coaches called for groups and everyone split off to start warming up.  Stiles and Ander went and joined the rest of the midfielders.  Derek seemed to pause a little near them both before striding away, no doubt not wanting to seem overprotective, but he was clearly watching over all of the new signings throughout the session.

 Stiles wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  Clearly, Derek had spoken to the squad as no one made any comments or jokes which was the usual reaction on a football team to anything embarrassing or any story in the press, but it was the captain’s fault that something had to be said in the first place.  Stiles was just happy that he could spend a couple of hours running through drills and practice. 

When lunch came, Stiles gravitated towards Scott and they joined the rest of the team in the canteen to eat and chat.  They ended up on a table with Darren Fletcher and Chris Smalling, both of whom they’d chatted to at the party a fair amount, especially as Chris was a fellow Londoner.  They weren’t friends per se, but they were certainly friendly.  Stiles still remembered the first time he’d seen Darren Fletcher play when he was one of the youngest midfielders to play in the Premiership.  He’d been out for a couple of seasons with illness and most people hadn’t expected him to return to top flight football, but he’d been vice-captain since the start of the year and playing as well as ever. Stiles really respected the drive and passion Fletcher must have had to overcome everything to be second only to Derek in the squad.

As Stiles remembered his position as the captain’s second, he wondered whether their skipper had asked Fletcher to sit with some of the newer members.  Spotting Hale with Jackson, Matt and Michael Carrick Stiles decided that Derek probably had, again, not that he minded, he was just unsure how to feel about their captain’s handling of the situation.  Still, chatting with one of his idols and reminiscing about all the favourite places they missed from London, he found that he didn’t really mind. 

“So, you guys OK, yeah?” Chris asked in a lull in the conversation, earning himself a rebuking glare from Darren.  “What? I’m just asking!”

“We’re fine.” Scott answered for them, though the table descended into awkward silence for a while.  “Jesus...” He muttered and shook his head.

“What!? Sorry, I was just trying to be a good guy...” Chris muttered, sitting back a little.

“No, sorry, not you. I don’t care if you ask after us, or what happened, it’s just... they’re being... not great.” He nodded at the table behind Darren.  On it was four players from South America who were all speaking in rapid Spanish – which, clearly, none of them realised that Scott spoke fluently. 

“What?!” Darren asked, twisting in his chair.

“They’re just trying to guess who Derek was talking about and, wow... OK, that’s not cool.” Scott shook his head again and glared. Raising his voice a little he leant over the table a little. “Hey, Sabes que hablo español también?”

The table in question went silent as did a lot of the canteen before conversation started once more, though quieter than before. 

“What happened?” Derek asked, appearing as if from nowhere. 

“They,” Darren indicated the table in question with a nod of his head, “were talking about guys and who might be... you know...” He finished and Derek’s glare deepened into a full on scowl.  “From the way McCall was reacting it wasn’t good.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow at Scott who nodded.  “It was pretty mean and, well... graphic, if I heard right.” Stiles looked at his friend who just shook his head; he knew if he pressed Scott would tell him but he didn’t really want to know.

“Right.” Derek squared his shoulders and walked to the table in question, voice low, but Stiles could hear the reprimand in the tone of the voice used, if not the words; his captain apparently spoke fluent Spanish too.  The rest of the room went silent again as they watched the scene play out.  Derek was clearly ripping into them and the four men being told off were sitting in various states of embarrassment, anger and shame. 

After that, lunch continued with no further dramas and they went out for their afternoon training session.  Bizarrely, it wasn’t Stiles who played poorly but Scott.  He seemed unable to settle and kept missing chances, even when the crosses came from Stiles who placed them exactly where he knew Scott would be. None of the new signings seemed to be on top form though, all of them seemed to be distracted to some extent.

As soon as training ended for the day they were all called back to Marin who showed them to their suite of rooms.  Scott and Stiles were in adjoining rooms, unsurprisingly, but both wanted some time alone to relax and cool down after a vigorous, if frustrating, training session.  After he’d taken a cool bath to relax his muscles he settled into the unsurprisingly comfortable bed and took out his phone.First he texted his dad to let him know he was OK and ask if he’d be free to talk later, then, trying not to think too much, phoned Danny.  It connected after only a couple of stomach churning rings. 

“Hey.”“Hi, how you doing?” Danny sounded pleased to hear from him at least.

“I’m OK.”

“Stiles.” Danny said with only a mild tone of rebuke, though concern was the emotion which shone through.  “You don’t have to pretend for me, I remember what you were like last night.  How are you, really?”

This time he paused before answering. “Tired, stressed, I feel like a fraud or a coward, I’m worried about Scott, I’m annoyed at Derek, I feel like everyone’s looking at me and they all _know_.  Is that enough?” He said with a smile.  Despite only knowing Danny a short time, he felt amazingly comfortable sharing things like that with him because he knew that Danny would do the same.

“OK... well... let’s talk then.” Danny said and Stiles smiled wider.  They spent the next hour just talking.  They talked about football, about twitter and about the gossip which Stiles was still trying to ignore but Danny wasn’t, they talked about the GQ article which was due the following week, about the shop and about TV shows they wanted the other to watch.

Just before Stiles had to head back out for dinner his phone beeped in his ear and he pulled it away to see a text from his Dad, which reminded Stiles about something he wanted to ask Danny.

“Hey, so, after the Millwall game, Dad’s coming up for a couple of days.  I’m not sure how, but I know he’ll want to meet you...”

“Wow, are we doing that already? I mean the meeting the parent’s thing?”

“Well, we don’t have to, it’s just I kind of mentioned I was sort of maybe dating someone.”

“Jeez Stiles, how many qualifiers was that!?”

“Shut up...” Stiles mumbled.

“Sorry, well, I suppose you’ve met my dad, so, sure... why not?” Danny said and Stiles was thankful that the other boy couldn’t see the blush of pleasure which he was sure was spreading across his face.

“Great.  Well, I better go, grab Scott, eat dinner.”

“OK. Well, have fun and I’ll speak to you tomorrow?”

“How about later tonight? Before bed?” Stiles asked then blushed deeper realising how that may have sounded, but Danny just chuckled. 

“I can’t tonight. I’m out with some of the guys. Tomorrow for sure though.” Danny said, the smile still evident in his voice.

“OK, sure.  Have fun.” Stiles said and, trading goodbyes, hung up.  A little, needy, part of him tried not be worried about Danny, the boy he was dating, the incredibly handsome boy he was dating, going out for evening without him.  Shaking his head, he tried his best to dislodge any niggling fears he had and went to find Scott.After a couple of knocks his friend answered the door dressed in exactly the same Man U tracksuit that Stiles was wearing.  “Hey! We’re twins!” He said with a grin.

Scott just rolled his eyes and pulled the door shut behind him.  “How you doing?”

“Peachy.  Do you get some rest? You hungry?”

“Yes and yes.  Spoke to Allison, she’s going to come up soon, probably in a week or so.”  His voice sounded strangely hollow.

“That’ll be nice.” Stiles said unsure exactly what was going on.

“Yeah.  Maybe. Did you speak to Danny?”   Scott asked after checking no one was within earshot.

“Yep.  He’s going out tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, Isaac said.” Scott mumbled and headed through the door to the restaurant for dinner.

“Wait, what? When do you speak to Isaac?” Stiles jogged to keep up.

“After Allison.” Scott said, not looking his way.

“Hey!” Stiles grabbed his friends arm and span him round to face him. “What’s going on?”

Scott waited a second before meeting his eyes.  “Nothing.” He forced a smile. “I’m just annoyed about how much I sucked out there today.  I mean even Greenberg would have saved those shots.”

“Scotty...” Stiles tried, knowing something was wrong.“I’m fine, Stiles. Honestly... let’s go grab some food then we can head back to my room and you can thank me for remembering to ask Braeden to pick up the X-Box.” Scott bumped into him, making Stiles stumble a couple of steps and catch himself on the wall.

“OK fine.  Don’t tell your _best friend_ , just means I’ll kick your ass on Fifa later.”

“You wish Stilinski.” Scott laughed and shoved his friend through the door to the restaurant.  Stiles let him laugh, laughed with him and they left it for the evening.  But, Stiles didn’t forget. 

Something was bothering his friend and he was determined to find out what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading....
> 
> oh...
> 
> This is nothing of nothing, but if you saw this:
> 
> http://www.buzzfeed.com/alanwhite/a-nine-year-old-girl-sent-this-beautiful-letter-to-her-teach
> 
> at all over the last couple of days... well... that's me! :-D I'm Mr R.! That was one of my kids who wrote the letter...! :-D


	12. Friendly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friendly against Millwall, a team not known for the most... friendly... fans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late - I've just moved house! :-D Surrounded by boxes, but wanted to get this up...

Stiles had to keep reminding himself not to bite his nails.  He and Scott were on the team bus heading through London and down into Bermondsly towards The Den and Millwall FC.  Try as he might he couldn’t quite squash his nerves; he hadn’t felt as nervous since his first appearance for Fulham.  Scott was sitting next to him, eyes closed, pretending to rest, though Stiles knew he was going through all his plays and what he knew about the opponents defence. 

Despite his resolution to get to the bottom of whatever had been bothering his friend, Stiles was still unsure what was upsetting Scott, which felt odd in itself.  Normally, Stiles figured out his best friend’s moods even before Scott himself. They’d still spent the same amount of time together, still ate together, worked out together and chatted the same as ever, but Scott simply refused to be drawn.  Stiles tried to let it go, reasoning that if it really was important, he’d be told, so he trusted Scott and let him be.

Watching semi-familiar landmarks go by, along roads which he’d never been down but still felt like home, Stiles tried to distract himself from the upcoming match.  He already knew what was expected of him, knew what Hale wanted him to do and knew he wouldn’t be on until after half time, if at all.  As the buildings became less and less familiar, and thus less and less distracting, Stiles pulled out his phone and tapped through the tabs, checking not only the news but the gossip sites which were also always loaded too.

In the days since Derek’s appearance on Jonathon Ross speculation had run rampant across the internet.  Manchester United, as good as Marin’s word, controlled as much of the story as they could with the vast majority of newspapers, channels and sites, though all ran some sort of story somewhere and they were kept live by continuous and passionate comments.  What Marin had absolutely no control over, on the other hand, was Twitter. 

All of their accounts had been raided by thousands of new followers and any tweet which may have been at all related to sexuality was retweeted and dissected online.  A lot was made of Stiles and Scott’s close friendship, though after a couple of days the online community seemed decided on their ‘Bromance’ status, rather than ‘Boyfriends’.  This was no doubt owing to Scott’s relationship with Allison, though, especially on Tumblr with some especially creative photoshopped gifsets, there was some speculation about how close the three of them were.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of the idea of him, Scott and Allison together in that way, Stiles went back to twitter to follow the hashtags and conversations about them all.  He’d created an anonymous account the first night he’d been at Old Trafford, it still had the egg logo and he made no tweets, it was just for information gathering; it let him find out what was being said.  He knew it wasn’t healthy or helpful to spend any time focused on online gossip but he couldn’t help it, he needed to know what was being said.

“I wish you’d stop looking at that.” Scott murmured looking concerned.

“I will.” Stiles said, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie, though he didn’t close the tabs.  Scott gave him a look, showing he knew it was a lie, but letting it go. “So, you done with your Yoda meditation?”

“It’s bad enough you made me watch those movies, now you quote them at me?”

“That wasn’t a-“ Stiles shook his head. “Nevermind.  You all set?”  Scott nodded and looked out of the window.

“I think we’re here.” He said nodding at the stadium at the end of the road they’d just turned down.  It was still early and there weren’t many fans milling around, though when the bus pulled up, there were still a handful of supporters and photographers with the television camera catching their arrival.  Marin had been quite clear on the fact that no one was to stop other than Darren Fletcher who’d be speaking to the film crew and would sign autographs. He got off the bus first then Derek led the rest of the team from the bus through into the stadium where they were met by Millwall staff who showed them to their changing rooms. 

Getting into a more familiar setting relaxed Stiles as he and the team went through their pregame preparations.  Every team was different and being the newest at a team like Manchester United Stiles wasn’t fully involved with all the traditions they went through, meaning he got a good outside view of who needed time alone, who needed to laugh and talk and who needed to go over strategy.  Being new also meant he was left alone for the most part; something that he, at that moment, enjoyed.

Before long, the coaches were leading them out onto the field for warm ups.  Stiles went where directed and was paired with Jackson to feed the player passes and crosses which he could run for.  The stadium wasn’t anywhere near as big as Old Trafford, or even as big as Fulham, but the ten thousand plus spectators were already pretty loud, though everyone on the pitch ignored them.  During warm ups nothing was particularly directed at the players, it was more just the standard noise of a large crowd of enthusiastic supporters.

Manchester United had a fairly large away support, despite it being a pre-season friendly.  They had fans all over the United Kingdom and a lot of them lived in London, so away games in the capital always had a lot of red support.  Their opponents though, had supporters who bordered on the fanatic. In the worst days of British football hooliganism, Millwall fans were among the most feared. Owing to the violence of some of the fans, The Den had to be closed on numerous occasions and the club was fined repeatedly until they could gain some control over their supporters.  In more recent years, Millwall tried their best to distance themselves from the hooliganism they were known for; something made harder after a 2-0 loss to Wigan in 2013 in the FA cup semi-final. In the fights which erupted at the end of the match, twelve Millwall supporters were arrested. 

Stiles tried his best not to pay attention to the stands, to stay focused on his task in hand.   Jackson didn’t seem as flexible as Scott though and some of their passes were going wrong, van Gaal noticed as Stiles did and swapped them so that Stiles was working with Hale instead.  They warmed up together, Stiles passing or acting as opponents to tackle against as needed.  They didn’t talk, even Stiles’ mouth closed during matches.

With the stadium filling up, van Gaal directed the coaches to get the squad back into the changing rooms in order to have plenty of time before kickoff.  As they did, the starting eleven stripped off the last of their tracksuits and got into their kits.  The white shirts and black shorts were pristine and new; the emblem bright and clear on everyone’s chests and Stiles felt the familiar stirrings of pride he’d felt when kitted out for Fulham.  Surprisingly, he had a little laugh to himself at the thought that his feelings may be more to do with the similarity in kit colours than anything else. As much as he was looking forward to playing a game in Man U red, he’d still find it odd not to look down and see Fulham white.

“Listen up!” Derek called, gesturing everyone in when he was sure they were ready.  “We are Manchester United.” He looked around the room slowly, meeting everyone’s eyes but focusing, clearly, on the starting eleven.  “We are _the_ team that everyone wants to beat.  We are _the_ team that everyone thinks they can take. We are _the_ team who everyone thinks is too new,” he looked directly at Jackson, “or too old.” he shifted to look directly at Michael Carrick, who, while still only thirty-three, had faced rumours of retirement. “Or just not ready to play as a team.  They are wrong.”

“We _are_ young and hungry.  We _are_ old and experienced.  We _are_ a _team._ And so help me God if we don’t beat these Championship bastards I will kick all your asses.” He ended with a grin and to a few laughs.  “Now, lace up, and bring your A game because _we are Manchester United!”_ He raised his voice and most of the team responded with a ‘Yeah!’ but Derek pounded his fist against the locker and bellowed, “And we _will not be BEATEN!”_

This time the entire team joined in the cheer before getting into line order, ready to go out.  Stiles and the other subs took up positions at the rear of the line as they would be going directly to the away dugout to watch the first half from the sidelines.  When the team came out to the announcement of their names it was met with the standard mix of boos and cheers as both teams’ fans vocally welcomed the teams to the pitch. 

Scott and Stiles followed the rest of the subs to the seats behind their manager and settled in to watch their team take on their opponents.  Millwall looked as edgy and ready for a match as any team Stiles had seen.  While only a friendly, Derek was right, every team wanted to beat Manchester United, none more so than a Championship League side who normally didn’t get the chance.

The teams quickly shook hands and the referee spoke quickly to both captains, who shook hands and after winning the coin toss Derek opted to kickoff, bringing Carrick up to join him in the centre circle; the Millwall captain, Alan Dunne, backing off while trying to maintain eye contact with Hale.  Stiles shook his head at the lunacy of anyone trying to intimidate their American captain; the man could trade glares with a grizzly bear.

As the game kicked off, everyone immediately seemed to be moving at once, getting into position, finding their markers and setting up for where they can best be of use for the game.  Jackson immediately sprinted forward as Carrick floated a long ball directly to where his teammate was headed.  Stiles had practiced the move with Scott and, while normally ineffective, he could see why Hale had wanted to use it as an opening salvo; it would put Millwall on the defensive immediately and show that Manchester were there to win.

As the ball fell perfectly for Whittemore, he took a single tap to steady the ball then blasted it right on goal meaning the keeper had to leap to the top corner to save it.  Even from where he was sitting, Stiles could see Jackson standing and looking at the Millwall defence, a mocking sneer clear in his stance and on his face.  Dunne was already yelling at his team to pull it together though Jackson, true to type just shook his head sadly.  To Millwall, this was a kid, an egotistical jumped up kid, who was mocking their team in the first seconds. Unsurprisingly the fans went crazy.

 

While at the beginning it was merely a wall of noise with occasional louder swear words standing out, slowly a chant began to take over: “You’re gay and we know you are, you’re gay and we know you are, you’re gay and we know you, you’re gay and we know you are!” Was being sung to the tune of ‘Go West.’  Stiles, felt a lump form in his throat.  This is exactly what he feared, what he didn’t want to happen; the fact it was happening to a teammate did nothing to lessen the impact of hearing the chant.

Before the goalie could kick the ball out, Derek was in the face of the referee gesticulating at the home stand where the chant was coming from but the ref was just shaking his head, urging the game to play on.  Jackson didn’t seem overly phased, certainly less so than Derek who was purple with rage.  The ball came back out into play and the game started in earnest.  Clearly, both teams were on a mission to score early and it went end to end several times very quickly.

Hale, reading the game correctly, slowed the game down, passing it around the midfield and defence for a couple of minutes, keeping it away from the Millwall team who weren’t as fast, or as skilled in tackling as Manchester.  This lull, however, gave the fans time to start singing again, this time to the tune of ‘knees up Mother Brown’, though it’s usual lyrics of ‘who ate all the pies’ was changed to something more topical.

“Which of you is gay?

 Which of you is gay?

 Shaw or Whittemore,

Daehler, Herrera,

which of you is gay?”

The chant kept going longer than the first and van Gaal eventually went over to the official on the sideline and tried having a word, clearly, once again, gesturing to where the singing was coming from.  This official spoke quietly to the manager but nothing else seemed to be done.  

Stiles wanted to sink into his seat and be swallowed up.  This was all because of him.  Sure, if Derek hadn’t said anything it wouldn’t be happening either, but it all stemmed from him.  Suddenly, it all became too much, it was all just too unfair; all he wanted to do was play football and because of who he was wired to like, it seemed like he would never be able to do that and be open about who he liked.

He could feel his heart beat rising and his breathing becoming more ragged.  It had been a few months since his last panic attack, but he remembered the feeling as it started, fortunately, apparently Scott spotted it too.  He grabbed Stiles at the back of his arm, giving him something physical to focus on then he leant over and started speaking, using his free hand to cover his mouth ensuring that any cameras looking at them couldn’t see what was being said.

“Oh, God, the cameras.” Stiles managed to breath, feeling his chest tighten even more.

“Listen to my voice and breathe Stiles.  Right, out first - one, two, three, four, five.  Now in – one, two, three, four, five.” Scott continued until Stiles calmed down.  It was a small moment and private, but he couldn’t help but worry that someone might have seen, or recorded it.  “You OK?” His friend said eventually and Stiles nodded before checking around him, but everyone else seemed too focused on the game to have noticed.

“I’ll need to talk to Marin, make sure she knows that happened, see if someone caught it – it might look strange.” He clarified.

“We’ll do it, at half time.” Scott corrected, emphasising they’d be doing it together.

“Christ, what did I do to deserve you?” Stiles whispered, covering his mouth as Scott had done and his friend just rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the game. 

Nothing really had changed, both teams were aggressively attacking, neither scoring but both having chances. Then, as is often the case in football the game changed.  Hale took the ball deep into the Millwall half and two defenders came at him, one of whom went of position to do so.  Chipping the ball quickly back to Herrera, who immediately headed it forward into the gap created by the defender being on Hale, it fell to Whittemore.  This time, with an extra couple of seconds to place the ball, he managed to find the back of the net.

As quickly as that, it was 0-1 to Manchester United.  Scott and Stiles both leapt up to join the cheers from the away fans, though both stopped and stared in surprise when Jackson ran straight to the edge of the pitch where the most vocal home fans were and cupped a hand to his ear, goading them on.  Even from the where the dugouts were, Stiles heard the names they were screaming at him.  Jackson just laughed though and rolled his hand, egging them on.

It only lasted a few seconds before Derek was there, pulling his teammate back onto the pitch proper and into a celebratory pile of Manchester united players.  Despite that, the referee still called Jackson over and spoke to him, no doubt remonstrating for winding up the Millwall fans before pulling out a yellow card and showing it to him before stalking away.  It was clear that Jackson was about to start following the official and even got as far as to yell at him before Derek was there, yet again, trying to pull his teammate out of danger.

“McCall, warm up.”  van Gaal said, turning, no doubt anticipating swapping Jackson out sooner rather than later.  Scott bounced up out of his seat and went to the coach at the touchline before side-stepping and jogging up and down the side of the pitch; staying close to the away support where possible.  Stiles ignored his friend and watched the game instead.  Hale was clearly still trying to get through to Jackson who was angrily glaring at the referee.  He only came back to himself when Derek gestured to where Scott was warming up; no one wanted to be subbed off, especially in a game where they feel they are playing well.

It didn’t take long before the game started again and Millwall were just as aggressive in trying to score.  The fouls started to rack up and Stiles flinched at a couple of the hard tackles; particularly a brutal slide which knocked Jackson to the ground and earned the Millwall player a yellow card.  As it was so close to the dug outs Stiles clearly heard the defender yell; “Get up a fucking poof!” as Jackson rolled around, playing up being hurt. However, as not only the Man U dugout but the linesman heard it clearly, the ref had no chance other than to pull out his card for a second yellow, immediately followed by the red – two yellow cards meaning the player is sent off for the rest of the game.

Being down to ten men is always a disadvantage and the fans, who had been silenced by the Manchester goal started yelling furiously once again.  To their mind, Jackson dived and then their player was sent off for nothing more than a tackle.  The fact that it was the goal scorer who got their player a red card only seemed to make it worse. All around him, Stiles heard the most ugly gay slurs shouted at a teammate and it took almost no imagination to put himself in Jackson’s shoes.  No doubt as that less than half an hour later, he would be.

The thought made his palms sweat but, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing again, he held off any other panic attacks.  When he opened his eyes, the game had restarted, Jackson still having abuse shouted at him as he ran easily up and down the pitch; more evidence for the Millwall fans that he had dived to get their player sent off.  As the half continued, Manchester started talking more and more control of the game, with more and more chances piling up. 

Scott’s warm up slowed down as Jackson proved that, no matter what he was feeling personally, professionally, on the pitch, he was all about the game.  van Gaal clearly was happy risking a second yellow for the chance of one of the striker’s many chances extending their lead.  In the end, though, it was van Persie who brought the score to 0-2 after a perfect, curling free kick from the edge of the box. 

With a two nil lead, van Gaal clearly thought that Manchester United were in control enough to consider putting in Stiles after half time as he called a coach over who collected all the subs into the tunnel and sent them back to the small gym by their dressing room to stretch and start warming up.  None spoke though as they all worked through their individual warm ups and watched the match that was going on so close to them being shown on the large screen in the centre of the gym.

Stiles watched the game progress as he spent time on the treadmill, slowly increasing his pace through a fast walk to a slow jog. From his position right in front of the screen he had the perfect position to see the third goal.  This one was a masterclass of passing as a long ball from Daehler went straight to Herrera who continued it up to van Persie without missing a beat; the ball had gone from one end of the pitch to the other in seconds and Hale and Whittemore were right up there with van Persie.  Clearly both had realised where the ball was going as soon as it had left Matt’s foot and bolted up the pitch with it.  That gave van Persie two options to cross it in and he opted for Jackson whose strike was punched away by a lucky block from the keeper only to land at the feet of Derek who knocked it in for their third goal. 

“Yes!” Stiles couldn’t help but say and his fist pumped as the ball crossed the line.  Unfortunately, his feet stopped too and the treadmill did not, meaning that in the wake of yet another goal he was left flailing uncontrollably as he tried to remain upright, much to the joy of his teammates whose laughter matched his own.  “Thank you!” He finally called when he was safe on his feet once more. “I’m here all week, try the fish!”

Most of them shook their heads at his antics, still not quite used to him or his sense of humour, but Scott’s grin was wide and true.  Stiles moved away from his machine and joined Scott at his.  “Three up? Think skipper will play me?”

His friend looked at him like he was crazy.  “Of course, why wouldn’t he?”

Stiles shrugged. “I dunno.” He scuffed his feet on the floor of the gym.  “I just don’t want to mess up, like, imagine I get out there and score an own goal or something.” Scott stopped his machine and put his fists on his hips.

“Seriously? That’s what’s griping you? You aren’t going to score an own goal Stiles, you’re going to go out and play like you always play, fast, inspiring and you’re going to put the ball at my feet so I can score a brace today, got it?!”  He said, playfully swiping at his friend’s head.

“Yeah, yeah.  Maybe _I’ll_ score two goals, what about that, Mr Strikerman?”

“Yeah, fine.  But only after I’ve got mine.” He held his fist out for a bump which Stiles dutifully gave him. 

“Back on you warm up!” Snapped their coach and both boys jumped and went back to their machines.  Stiles stretched again before starting his jog, though all his limbs felt loose and limber. However, it did gave him time to watch the end of the first half play out and he saw the whistle go signalling the break. 

“Hey coach.” Stiles called and the man walked over. “Can I quickly phone Ms Morrell? I’ll stay on the treadmill...?” The coach looked about to refuse but clearly remembered some instruction that the new signings were all to have instant access to their handler so nodded tightly.  Stiles nipped into his cubby to get his phone – quickly, before the team proper got back – and went back to the gym to make the call.

As soon as Scott saw what he was doing he headed over, moving onto the treadmill next to Stiles. Marin picked up as soon as the call dialled. “Is everything OK?” She asked, ignoring pleasantries.

“Fine, I’m just warming up but... something happened that you maybe should know about.”

“I’m listening.” She said, though she sounded confused, no doubt wondering why, if there was news, she was hearing it during his warm up in the middle of a game.

“It was during the first half.  I almost had a panic attack, Scott, Scott McCall?” He clarified nervously, “He had to grab me and talk me through it.  I don’t know if anyone noticed but it’ll look odd if it was caught on film.”  He didn’t expand further.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention Stiles.  It wasn’t broadcast live but I’ll speak to the producers and ensure that if they have it, it’s not used.  Panic attacks are on your medical notes so we have legitimate reasons for it to remain personal and unaired.”

“Oh, right, thanks.”  He said, not feeling overly reassured despite her calm demeanour.

“Certainly and thank you for thinking to tell me, good luck in the second half Mr Stilinski.” She said hanging up.

“Mr Stilinski’s my Dad.” Stiles muttered to nothing but slipped the phone away.

“You good?” Scott asked, looking away from the screen.

“Yeah, she’s on it, it didn’t go out live though.”  He said with a shrug, hating that he had to worry about how things like Scott helping him through a panic attack might look to outsiders.

“You seen this?” Scott asked, nodding back to the game coverage.  The TV was on mute, but the subtitles were up and Stiles read the ongoing story.  They were discussing the impact the chants were having on Manchester players.  They showed Derek looking angrier than ever, Jackson getting his yellow and Matt getting into it with a Millwall striker.  Apparently the songs the fans were singing were loud enough to be picked up by the cameras and the presenters were apologising for any offense taken before launching into a discussion about what it might mean for Millwall.  Fines seemed to be the most common suggestion though it, once again, allowed the station to discuss the six new signings and what it might mean for them. 

While the discussion was still going on the coach called the subs through to the locker room and they walked into a cheerful and lively room.  van Gaal clapped Stiles on the back as he walked in: “Excellent, excellent you are all here now.  Though I am of course pleased with the score, I want to play every new signing.  So, Stilinski, McCall you are both going on please.  Shaw, Herrera, I’d like you to sit out now.” Both men nodded and stretched, neither looking particularly upset to be subbed out of what was, after all, only a friendly.  “Now, Whittemore.” He turned to the handsome, red-faced young man, who sat up, looking as innocent as possible. “This thing you are doing with the crowds? I don’t like it. At all.  That will stop, but you are unsettling the defence so you’ll stay on for a little longer, but any more incidents and you’ll be off, like that.” He said, snapping his fingers.  Jackson nodded, but seemed uncowed.

Stiles followed Scott to their cubbies and silently got into his kit.  Ryan Giggs, the assistant manager and Manchester legend came in soon after letting the van Gaal know that the substitutions had been made and then he headed over to Scott and Stiles to give them some last minute advice.  Essentially it was: “Keep your head in the game, watch for opportunities and follow Hale.” All good advice and Stiles found his nerves settling as the assistant manager assured him he’d be great.

He’d played before, even played in games at a higher level than Millwall were used to.  Sure, he was only coming on because they were three up, but Giggs believed in him, van Gaal believed in him, so much so he even overrode Hale’s initial objections, whatever they were.  Plus, he was playing with Scott who always made him look good, was always on the end of his crosses.  Squaring his shoulders, pushing everything else aside, he nodded to himself; he could do this.  This was football.

Running out with the rest of the team the noise of the crowd hit him like a solid wall of sound.  He forced himself not to slow down and took up his position in between the three defenders and the other four midfielders.  It was a tricky position to play in, but one that he excelled in; he was fast enough to be able to drop back into defence if needed while still be a presense in midfield too and that speed enabled him to play up front as well at times; oppositions often found marking him nigh on impossible. Considering as well that he was fresh and the team he was playing against had already played a gruelling first half, he found he was actually looking forward to seeing what he could do.

As the whistle blew the Millwall midfield sent the ball back into their own half, clearly wanting to keep control of the ball at the start of the game.  Scott pelted off after it though like a greyhound from the trap and it caused a couple of panicked passes allowing Carrick to get the ball for Man U within a minute of the half starting.  As he had a couple of Millwall players on him, he passed it back to Stiles who coolly took the ball and dribbled it across the field, looking for space or a teammate who could get free.

Being back in his own half meant that the pressure wasn’t as intense and he had time to launch the ball high and out to the wing.  Scott had started moving into the space his eyes had found only a second before and Stiles felt the searing joy as his pass fell exactly to his friend’s feet.  He’d had his first touch of the new season and it had gone as well as possible. 

Moving forward he took up position on the centre, watching his teammates try to break down the Millwall defence.  Nothing seemed to be getting through though and after a couple of corners which produced nothing, Millwall broke away.  Their captain began dribbling out to the wing, avoiding Hale’s tackle with a nifty flick and a twist sending Derek to the ground.  Seeing where the ball was going, Stiles put on a burst of speed and closed the distance to Millwall captain in the blink of an eye.  Sliding in well ahead of where the player was, he connected with the ball and sent it out for a throw in.  Behind him he sensed more than saw the other player fall and roll, going for a free kick, but the referee just shook his head. 

As the Millwall played had dove to the ground he wasn’t able to get to the ball quickly for a speedy throw in which allowed everyone to get back in position.  Stiles passed Derek as he went to support the central defender and received a pat on the back and a gruff, “Nice.” From the captain who was fixated on the Millwall player on the side line.  Play continued in their half without any real danger for a couple of minutes before Daehler cleared it.  Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes though as all Matt did was punt the ball as hard as he could up the pitch.  Jackson obviously felt no compunction at belittling his own teammates as he cried from his open space down the pitch, clearly annoyed about how badly placed the clearance was.

Stiles lost himself in the back and forth of the game, relishing in playing professionally again after a long summer break. The crowd seemed to be more quiet in the second half, the home crowd obviously not hopeful of being able to pull three goals back and not enjoying the friendly at all.  Still, as the match progressed, they fell back into a chant from earlier:

“Which of you is gay?

“Which of you is gay?

“Daehler, Whittemore,

“McCall or Stilinski,

“which of you is gay?”

Being on the pitch to hear it, and hearing his own name in the chant made the song hit home in a way it hadn’t on the bench.  Remembering the advice he’d been given he tried to block it out and focus on the ball, but, once again, Hale went to the referee to complain and was, once again, ignored.

The song didn’t last though as Stiles saw a gap in the midfield and sprinted through it, the ball glued to his feet as he wove between Millwall players and he glanced up and caught Scott’s eye who was racing up the wing.  Making sure he didn’t grin, Stiles lifted his arm and pointed to a spot just ahead of where Scott was causing a couple of his opponents to head in that direction.  Scott, after years of playing together knew what that meant; that Stiles was going to put the ball down the middle.  Cutting across the pitch he ran without looking for the ball and Stiles blasted the ball low and fast where he hoped, and prayed, Scott would be. 

His trust paid off though as Scott checked his run, turned and without any way of knowing where the ball would be caught it on his chest, allowed it to bounce and span, firing the ball into the net at a pace Stiles had rarely seen on the practice pitch, let alone in a match. 

Scott leapt and ran straight for his friend, scooping Stiles up and lifting him high into the air, the pair of them screaming for joy along with their fans.  It was one of those goals that would be replayed and replayed all season and Stiles was over the moon it had come off.  Suddenly the rest of the team piled into them and they went to ground.  The massive pile up just made Stiles and Scott laugh harder, pressed against each other as they were.  “That was awesome!” Stiles cried into his friend’s ear.

“You so were!” He responded and Stiles just laughed, he knew it was a good cross, but Scott’s finish was amazing.

The game restarted and Millwall had visibly wilted.  A man and four goals down, in a friendly, was nowhere any of them wanted to be and it was clear they were just running down the clock.  The fans were silent as well, to the point that the Man U away support starting singing at the home fans: “You’re not singing, you’re not singing, you’re not singing anymore. You’re not singing anymore!”  Realising that staying focused on the game also meant blocking out your own fans, Stiles ignored the crowd once more and concentrated on getting through the game.

By the time ninety minutes rolled around, everyone was feeling the effort of even one half of the match.  Stiles legs were burning and he resolved to listen more to the trainers and up his cardio.  This promise was made as he jogged up to take the corner as Derek had sent him to do.  Taking his time to the background sound of fans whistling, demanding the referee call the end of the match, Stiles carefully placed the ball and looked into the goal mouth which was a swirling mass of bodies.  There was no way they could enact any of their set pieces so, knowing it made no real difference, he just curled the ball high and up, aiming for it to drop in the middle of the scrum somewhere, hopefully to a teammate.

Following the balls progress and running out after it he saw Derek and a Millwall player both jump up for the ball, the defender getting the better of it and heading it away.  As so many of the defenders were in the box, Stiles was able to retrieve the ball and, seeing Jackson at the back post, tried to cross the ball into him.

Something went slightly wrong though.  It may have been a twinge of cramp, or just tiredness, but the ball didn’t go where Stiles wanted it too.  Instead it curled wickedly into the top corner of the goal and the crowd roared as, with the last kick of the game, he made it five nil.  Before he even registered what he’d done his team were on him, once again knocking him to the ground.

He’d scored. 

Even pinned under his teammates, Stiles wanted to cry with relief, or shout with joy, just anything, anything other than being squashed by ten other sweaty, smelly men.  Squirming out of the pile he ran over to the most vocal of the away support and cheered with them.  They yelled for him, not many shouting his name, but all cheering him.  Spotting a camera, Stiles ran to it, grabbed at the sides, yelled into the lens and shook it.  A detached part of his brain realised that, just like Scott’s goal, that celebration would be shown again and again, but in his euphoria he just didn’t care. 

The final whistle blew as soon as the other team kicked off and the Millwall fans streamed out of the grounds but Stiles barely paid attention.  Scott was over at his side, bumping into him with a grin of companionship.  “I thought I told you to wait until I’d scored twice.”

Stiles laughed. “I’m not saying sorry you glory hunter.”

They shook hands with any Millwall players they could find and made their way back down the tunnel towards the changing rooms.  They could hear the raucous celebrations as soon as they rounded the corner but van Gaal plucked at Stiles’ and Scott’s sleeves as they passed.  “My boys, my boys.  Would you talk to the BBC? I can ask Hale but they want you.”

“Yeah, sure.” Scott said, his happy carefree self.

“Errrr.” Stiles stopped them both.  “We’re not supposed to talk to the press without Marin knowing.”

“We will speak to her and them.  No silly questions, just today. My boys!” He sent a staff member ahead of them, clearly ecstatic.

“Do I look OK?” Scott asked and scrubbed at his hair.

“You look like you’ve just won an important pre-season game.”

“So... awful then?” He said with a grin.

“Yeah.” Another Manchester United staff member appeared from nowhere with water and towels and the pair of them cleaned themselves and each other as best they could.  Before long, they were ushered in front of an advertisers screen with glaring lights in their faces.  Scott had done interviews like this before, but it was Stiles first time and, as the adrenaline faded from the win, his usual fear of saying the wrong thing started reappearing.

“Just stand here, and here.” A man positioned then, like props then clicked a device next to their faces and adjusted a couple of lights.

The smiling BBC presenter shook both their hands and grinned wildly. “Thank you for doing this, it’ll just be a short interview, reactions to the game that kind of thing. Really, well done though.”  She turned away, holding a finger to her ear, listening something they couldn’t hear.  “That’s right.” She said suddenly, a jovial lilt to her voice, “I’m here with two of Manchester most successful new signings. Scott McCall and Genim Stilinski.”  Stiles tried not to wince as she mispronounced his name.  “That was a stunning goal?” She thrust the microphone into Scott’s face who smiled.

“Yeah.  It’s great when something like that comes together, but Stiles and I have been playing together for years and, well, when something comes good, it just comes good.”

“I’ll say! And,” she hesitated a little over his name before ploughing on, “a goal with the final kick of the ball?”

“Yeah.” Stiles suddenly felt embarrassed and self conscious.  He rubbed at the back of his neck and tried to think of the right thing to say. “It was meant to be a cross, but it just curled in.”  He heard Scott bark a laugh and the presenters eyes widened in surprise. “I mean, I’m not a striker, that’s all.”

“Well, either way, it was a fantastic debut from you, and Scott, two goals in two games. Will this be the pattern Manchester United fans can come to expect?”

“I certainly hope so.  I think that we’ve shown today that we’re ready for the League and whatever comes our way we’ll stand a good chance of winning.  Tonight though, I think we just want to celebrate our win.” A cheer went up from behind the screen and the presenter laughed.

“Quite right.  And do either of you have any last words for a special someone out there?” She asked, a coy smile on her lips. It wasn’t a question about what Derek had let slip, but it was an open invitation to share about their private lives, clearly to catch either of them saying something, or, being charitable, giving them the option to.

While Stiles was still trying to think of how to respond, Scott leant forward and answered for them both.  “Just a massive thank you to the fans who have been so supportive and we look forward to our next game at Old Trafford.”

“Well, thanks for talking to us and we’ll let you get on. Well, there you go and smashing victory...” Stiles tuned her out as Scott ushered him out and round to the rest of their teammates, a massive cheer greeting them as they appeared.  It washed over Stiles though and he felt it pass.  He knew how the night would go and he’d join in and be happy, or as happy as he could, but that last question would stay with him.

Determined not to let her invasive questions, or his inability to answer it get him down though Stiles resolved to simply enjoy the night as best he could.  In all the celebrating though, he found all he really wanted to do was call Danny, or his Dad, or spend time with Scott on their own.  He wanted to be with people he could be himself with and not hold back.  But, for that night at least, Stiles’ mask stayed firmly fixed; the happy footballer, celebrating with his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next chapter on Wednesday as per...


	13. Response 3

# BBC Sport: Football

# Gossip column: Manchester teams both on form? Both teams annihilate their opponents in their friendlies.

For a list of all the pre-season friendly results, check out the [football page](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/transfers/)

Remember to check out the upcoming fixtures and find out who is playing next and when you can watch the games live on the BBC – the home of UK Sport.

## Pre-season Gossip

Manchester fans delighted by new season turn around. – **Sunday Times**

 

8 goals from 2 games! Super Man U shining bright. **Sunday Mail**

 

Rooney rumours and the friendly goal haul from Hale’s boys. **Guardian**

 

Distraction? What distraction?! Focused Manchester United pile on the woes for Millwall. [ **Sunday Mirror**](http://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/transfer-news/arsenal-vs-manchester-united-transfer-3954490)

**Dream start for Louis van Gaal and Derek Hale – exclusive interview with Manchester insiders.** [ **Sunday Express** ](http://www.express.co.uk/sport/football/494825/I-m-a-Mario-fan-Brendan-Rodgers-confirms-Liverpool-want-Balotelli)

 

 

Evening everyone! Well, it looks like the win against AS Roma _wasn’t_ a one off! Manchester United are coming out all guns blazing.  For those keeping score that’s 3 goals for Van Persie, 2 for McCall, and one a piece of Hale, Whittemore and Stilinski.  Maybe more importantly, none for Rooney who is yet to score.  Somehow, I don’t think van Gaal is losing any sleep over it… what do you guys think, and what about Man City? They might not have as many goals as Man U, but they have the clean sheet that their city rivals don’t? Who’s looking forward to the first derby between these two!?  


_18:00 Chris Forest (for BBC Sport):_

Now, I’m not a Man U fan but even I have to be a little excited about that performance!  Herrera and Shaw both a strong presence in the first half, Whittemore still striking well, McCall and Stilinksi are the strong pairing everyone hoped they’d be and even Hale scored! Only sticking point might be Daehler who maybe was a bit out of his depth? What do we think? Really want to hear from our Manchester fans about the Derby? Predictions?

_18:02 SophieB_

Very impressed! Less impressed with Millwall fans – disgraceful behaviour.

_18:02 ToffeeBlue_

You know there are teams outside Manchester right?!  Everton have also won both their preseason games… what about the Everton/Liverpool derby? Or is that less interesting now that Suarez is gone and there’ll be less biting!

_18:04 Chris Forest_

  1.   FA have already said they’ll investigate Millwall and look to be giving sanctions.  Millwall FC themselves yet to release a statement.



Fair point ToffeeBlue, maybe I was a bit over excited about a 5-0 score line, but you’re right, plenty of teams enjoying a good run in friendlies, but will it carry over to the season proper?

_18:07 Jake S_

Yeah, great game and impressed with all the new signings not rising to the fans chants – other than Hale obvs! They better get used to it though, until that whole thing is sorted, they’re all in for a lot of abuse.

_18:10 Chris Forest_

Jake – don’t you think it will depend on what the FA’s and fans reactions are? When they decided to (finally) do something about the racist chants it _did_ make a difference.  Now, it’s not tolerated at all and fans are barred from stadiums. I think a team like Man U can bring enough pressure to protect their players?

_18:16 Leo M_

First time in a long time that Man U have looked energized and exciting.  New blood clearly a good idea! Well done that team.  I reckon the derby is going to be a killer for both teams – no way of saying who’ll take it!  Can’t wait though…

_18:17 FlissC_

I’m hoping whichever new signing Hale was talking about comes out now – they’ve proved they can play – just do it!

_18:20 Chris Forest_

Come on LeoM – take a punt!?

FlissC – Man U have been quite clear – private lives are private and they all just want to focus on football, which we’ll respect.

_18:21 LeoM_

Alright, fine… 5-4 to Man City, no… 5-4 to Man U, no… 0-0 draw! I can’t do it :-{

_18:31 Carol W_

Six very brave men took the field today and everyone of them should be very proud, I was, though if I were a Millwall fan I’d be hiding my head in shame today!

_18:34 Dave B_

No way Whittemore’s coming out after that reaction – he got that much abuse over a rumour?! Poor lad – was a bit of tosser though when he scored.  No need.

_18:37 Sophie B_

It might not be Whittemore remember.  No one’s said anything…

_18:39 Chris Forest_

Yes, please do remember that private is private. Football people…! A 5-0 win?!

_18:40 Redordead_

It is still news though…?! Gay footballer? That’s never happened?

_18:42 Joey B_

Whatever, this was a win against a guff championship team.  Any premiership side would expect a big win.  So what that Man U beat them? Just wait til the season starts.  I bet their gay boy won’t be such a hit then!

_18:44 Chris Forest_

Joey B – please moderate your language or your account will be blocked.  Your other point may be sound though – yes, 5-0 is great, but it’s against a side Man U should expect to beat, what do you guys think?

_18:46 Sophie B_

I think Joey B should head back to his cave…

_18:47 Toffeeblue_

Yeah, Joey is right about the match though.  Man U should have won  that game, and they did.

_18:50 Joey B_

 I’m just speaking truth, might not be popular but it’s realistic.

_18:45 Chris Forest_

OK, we’re off topic again.  Apparently, any chat session I start on Man U are going to eventually revolve around the possibility of a gay player. Let’s move on. 

Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool, Man City – who’ll make the biggest impact in the Premier League?

_18:47 Sophie B_

Change the subject all you want, this story isn’t going anywhere…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to everyone and thanks for reading!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! :-D


	14. Non-date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the successful game against Millwall, Stiles and Danny have another non-date. Though this one gets a little steamier... ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW :-D 
> 
> justsaying!
> 
> Sorry it's a day late... all moved now...

Stiles had to admit, despite his brain occasionally flicking back to the impertinent question from the BBC reporter, the night after their win in London was an enjoyable one.  If Louis van Gaal was delighted, Derek Hale was over the moon.  Scott and Stiles were congratulated by almost all the squad, the only noticeable exception being Wayne Rooney who still hadn’t played and, it looked like, wasn’t particularly missed.

Nevertheless, the boys had a great night.  Especially so after they’d showered and changed and Stiles could check his phone.  He’d found about a dozen texts from his dad, who had been watching somewhere in the midst of the Manchester United fans.  Part of Stiles had thought his father would have been there, but was pleased he’d never asked; it would have added an extra pressure he hadn’t wanted.  From the texts, not even he had noticed Stiles’ mini-panic attack, but instead they were mainly focused on the second half and there were four in a row after he scored.  The last text, after the final whistle, told him that his dad was heading back north of the river with his friends and that he’d be up the day after next for two nights.  That was phrased as a question, so Stiles had quickly agreed; working out his Dad would be with them over a Saturday and would be able to see him at Old Trafford, if he played.

He’d made a note to make sure he got a ticket for his Dad and happily informed Scott they’d be having a guest.  His friend had become even more elated and Stiles was dragged into a clump of his teammates singing and jumping about, completely carefree.  Before long, Derek started getting them ready to go seeing as they weren’t staying in London – Manchester being close enough that they could easily get home after their game, especially as it had been an early kick off.  

They were on the road and quiet again as the fatigue of playing a match set in; even the subs who hadn’t played were silent as they listened to the match report from the Man City friendly on the radio.  Stiles went to put his head on Scott’s shoulder to fall asleep, as they had numerous times from Under-18 matches and even a few Fulham games before Scott went to Scotland, but then stopped.  He knew he could, he knew Scott wouldn’t care, and, if history was anything to go by would end up napping, cheek pressed into his friend’s hair, but, since everything had happened, even that made Stiles feel self-conscious.  Not that he thought anyone would particularly care, or if they did, wouldn’t say anything, but it still felt like another thing he had to stop himself doing.

The only noises, really, were the groans when Man City started putting goals away too; they were playing Brighton, who were also a championship team and it seemed the 5-0 Manchester United had scored was a target they were hoping to beat.  At half time they were 2-0 up and the commentators spent the break discussing the high level of football seen coming out of Manchester.  Stiles and Scott both listened attentively when the radio started discussing their partnership, each nudging the other when they, individually, were praised.  There were murmurs of agreement or dissent as the radio hosts dissected their game though the bus went silent when they went onto discuss the homophobic chants.

“One thing we have to mention is the chanting heard across the BBC, and the country. First of all, the BBC would like to apologise for any offense caused by these chants being aired.  Unfortunately, they were loud enough for our mics to pick up, but nonetheless, we are very sorry.  Secondly, Millwall FC have to be pretty embarrassed right now, right, Chris?”

“Indeed.  After the stories of the last few days, there was obviously going to be a lot of attention on this game, especially with all the lads in question playing.” Stiles’ back had gone up at that phrase.  “It’s got to be said though, Whittemore’s yellow withstanding, they handled it well.  I think that Hale and van Gaal might have something to say to the FA ensuring that clubs and fans know that kind of behaviour is completely unacceptable in today’s game.”

Stiles and Scott shared a look, but kept quiet.  Looking up he saw heads either snap away from looking at him, or them rather, or watching Matt, Jackson, Ander or Luke.  Shaking his head briefly, Stiles took out his phone to have something else to distract himself.  In all his focus on the Man City game he’d missed a text from Danny.

 

Danny, 3:15pm  
Just so you know, I listened to the game when  
I could at work.  Dad’s giving me grief for   
supporting Man U now! J Your goal sounded  
amazing! Can’t wait to watch it tonight,  
Scott’s too.  Catch you soon?

 

Stiles smiled and nudged Scott, showing him the text.  His friend smiled and turned his attention back out of the window. 

 

Stiles, 3:50pm  
Ha! If it helps, my Dad was in the Man U  
away fans... probably still wearing his Fulham  
shirt though, come to think of it.  Would be  
great to see you soon.  We’ve another  
friendly on Saturday at Old Trafford, but  
have a half day tomorrow? What you doing  
tonight? Or tomorrow?

 

He didn’t have to wait long for the reply.

 

Danny, 3:52pm  
Tonight? I’m watching football! J   
Got a crush on one of the new Man U boys,  
heard he scored today, gonna check it out.  
Love a boy in uniform me, ;-)

 

Stiles laughed once, unfortunately loud, blushing as he drew a fair few glances.  He hurriedly typed out a reply.

 

Stiles, 3:52pm,

Really?! Good to know! ;-) You want  
some company when watching football?

 

Stiles felt the familiar nervousness every time he texted Danny settle comfortably in his gut.

 

Danny, 3:54pm  
I thought you were on lockdown? If   
not I’d love it... yours or mine?

 

Stiles grinned happily to himself, even as another text came through.

 

Danny, 3.54pm  
If mine, Isaac would be there too though,  
obviously.  He’s been pretty low   
recently and don’t really want to have  
to kick him out so I can have date night...

 

Stiles, 3.55pm  
That’s fine, I don’t mind and yours would  
 be better... Can I see if Scott wants to  
 come too? We normally watch highlights   
together?

Danny, 3.56pm  
Sure! Hopefully Isaac won’t fee like a third  
wheel if there’s two interlopers on our  
non-date! :-D I’ve got a few beers in, is  
that OK? Do you want anything else?

 

Stiles felt a small claw shrink into his gut but replied as breezily as he could.

Stiles, 3.57pm  
Beers is fine, we’ll only have one or two,  
bit of food? Chicken pasta or something?  
We need to eat after all the running around!  
What do you mean by nondate?

 

Try as he might he couldn’t help but worry about what Danny might mean.  That phrase, nondate, shuttled around his head as he waited for a reply, building up more and more in the time it took the other boy to reply.

 

Danny, 3.59pm  
Nondate, as in, not going _out_ out and   
spending it with our best friends.  Not like  
a traditional date, that’s all... why?  
Fine, I can do chicken pasta I think... {heads   
to google and youtube}

 

Stiles smiled when he saw the text come in and quickly responded.

 

Stiles, 4:00pm  
Thanks man.  Man U dieticians are on us  
like all the time! I miss curly fries... L Nondate -   
that’s what I thought you meant, just  
checking.  Text me address and we’ll get  
a taxi there later, when’s good?

 

Danny replied with the address and a time and Stiles nudged Scott to get his attention.

“Hey.” He whispered, not wanting to disturb any other teammates from listening to the Man City game, which had restarted.  “Danny’s invited us to his and Isaac’s for chicken pasta, beers and highlights, fancy it?”

“Do you want to?” Scott asked and Stiles kind of grimaced and nodded.  He knew they were tired, but he really, _really_ wanted to see Danny.

“Gimmie a minute.” He said and Stiles nodded, trying not to watch as Scott started his own text chat with someone.  His brain wouldn’t let it go though.  Realistically, the only people who he could be texting were Isaac or Allison - though neither made a huge amount of sense.  In the end Stiles decided he must be texting Isaac to see if it was alright for him to go round, but, again, couldn’t see why.  Eventually, Scott nodded and turned back to Stiles. “Sure, OK, we’ll probably have to tell Marin though.”

“Yeah, I was thinking if we get a taxi from Old Trafford?” Scott nodded and Stiles couldn’t help but ask. “Who were you texting?”

Scott eyed him askance for a moment before answering. “Isaac.  I was just checking he didn’t mind if I joined you all tonight.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, curiosity definitely peaked.

Scott took even longer to reply.  “We chatted a bit about the crush thing,” he dropped his voice even lower to ensure they weren’t overheard.  “and agreed to take some space. That was only a few days ago, so I wanted to check...” He shrugged and Stiles nodded.  It made sense, really.  He remembered how sad Isaac had looked the morning after the party and the lunch that’d he and Scott had gone on with Allison.  They must have talked then, agreeing to give Isaac time and space to get over his crush.  Shaking his head, Stiles was even more annoyed about the fact that he couldn’t go out openly with Danny lest they be spotted by the press.

“Oh, OK... well, OK.  You don’t mind?” He asked, knowing Scott liked the times they’d spend, lounging around watching football highlights, just the two of them.

“No, it’s fine, honestly.  God mate, the amount of times I’ve dragged you to things following Allison around, especially at the start...” He smiled and Stiles returned it, knowing that he hadn’t cared then, so he doubted Scott cared when their positions were reversed.  The pair of them settled back into listening to the Man City game, both inordinately pleased that the final score was 4-0 and their city rivals couldn’t match their haul.

Leaning his head back against the seat rest, he closed his eyes and tried not to think too much about meeting up with Danny. Obviously, he failed.

 

*             *             *

 

Marin had been tight lipped at their announcement that they were visiting their friends; she had wanted them to stay at Old Trafford a few more days.  None of them wanted that though, especially after a match, so all the new starts had decided to head home.  It was only once the other four had gone that Scott and Stiles had told her that they were actually going to Danny and Isaac’s .  She’d looked at them both for a few seconds, no doubt hoping for more, but they had just stood silently. 

Eventually she’d nodded and told them she’d get them a car.  They’d split up to get the things together from their rooms and Stiles had plucked at his tracksuit, wondering if they had time to head home to shower and change first, but, really, he just wanted to see Danny.  He’d pulled out his phone he quickly sent a text while stuffing his clothes into a bag.

Stiles, 6.30pm  
So... we’re at Old Trafford, about to go,  
do you care that I’m just in my training  
tracksuit? I showered, honest!  I can go  
 home and get changed first if you want,  
 but it might make us later...

 

It didn’t take him long to clear his room and by the time he’d picked up his phone again, he’d got a reply.

 

Danny, 6.31pm  
The cute professional footballer I’m   
dating is asking whether I mind him   
being in his *team* tracksuit for   
a date snuggled watching football?   
How am I this lucky!? Course I don’t  
mind... though... I may get handsy! ;-)

 

In the privacy of his room, Stiles had allowed himself a shocked laugh and had felt the blush flash across his cheeks.  While he and Danny had kissed a couple of times, it had never gone beyond PG-13.  He’d responded without giving himself time to talk himself out of it.

 

Stiles, 6.32pm  
Now you know how I feel whenever you’re  
in a suit! ;-)  Would love letting you get   
handsy J.

 

He’d thrown the phone down on the bed and bitten his lip, trying not to giggle with glee at his own forwardness, especially after Danny had texted back. 

 

Danny, 6.32pm  
[groans] as much as I love Isaac and Scott,  
just know that if they weren’t with us  
tonight would go very differently. J

 

Stiles hadn’t trusted himself to reply, especially as he was starting to respond very definitely to the exchange and he’d not wanted to have to walk through to Scott’s room with an erection, so he’d just slipped his phone away.

They’d left the compound with very little fanfare, though there were some persistent photographers hanging around, however what pictures they thought they’d be getting was beyond Stiles.  The drive to Danny and Isaac’s flat had been full of nervous conversation, Scott, knowing his friend, allowed him to flit from topic to topic, his words often going faster than his brain; but when they’d arrived Stiles’ mind and mouth seemed to shut down.

“Hey guys.” Danny opened the door and greeted them wearing a pair of jeans and a tight, blue low necked t-shirt that was the main reason Stiles forgot how to speak. 

“Hey,” Scott replied, walking in and looking around.  It allowed Danny time to reach out and pull Stiles in for a hug which ended with him leaning back and gently pressing a slow and steady kiss directly onto his lips.

“Hey.” He breathed and sighed happily.

“Hi.” Stiles replied, kicking the door shut with his heel.  His grin was huge as he settled happily into Danny’s arms. “How you doing?”

“I’m great.” Danny said, giving the shorter boy a squeeze then letting go, though his hand glided down Stiles’ arm and into his hand, fingers linking as he led him from through the small corridor into the living room.  They’d seen it before, of course, when they’d been before, but it felt different to Stiles now.  He was different, he and Danny were different.  The flat was small and compact, with a set of kitchen units set back against the far wall and a small table with four chairs and a large sofa taking up the rest of the room.  Isaac was sitting at the table, chopping up some tomatoes, but he gave a small, nervous smile when he saw them all come in. 

“Hi.” Scott said as his eyes settled on Isaac.  

“Hi.” He replied, then went back to chopping.

“Can I get you guys a beer? Food won’t be long.” Danny asked. They both accepted and they started chatting about the game that day; neither of their friends had seen it, though both knew the score.  After checking the pasta bake he’d made, Danny suggested he show Stiles the rest of the flat.  At the blatant eye rolls of both other boys, everyone knew that it was just an excuse to get some time alone, but Stiles was happy with it.

Whether it was to keep up the pretence or if he just wanted to show Stiles where he lived, Danny did show him the whole flat.  The only word for it was small.  There was a small hallway which the front door opened into with four doors off it: one to the kitchen/living room; one into a long thin bathroom, barely big enough for a sink toilet and shower unit; one into Isaac’s room which was neat, tidy and, if Stiles was being honest a bit bare; and the last into Danny’s room which was as neat but a lot more lived in.

There were books everywhere and what looked like five different laptops or computers stacked and linked up on the desk in the corner.  The large wardrobe was closed, but it looked big enough to house all of Stiles and Scott’s clothes together.  The only other piece of furniture was the large, neatly made bed, standing empty and inviting.  Taking a hold of his fear and wrestling it down, he stepped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling shyly when Danny joined him.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Stiles said and licked his lips, nervousness showing.

“Uh-huh.” Danny said and blinked, eyes focused on the other boy’s mouth.

“We’d just have been sitting in the compound.”

“Yeah.” He edged closer, legs touching.  Stiles eyes flicked down to where they connected.

“Sorry I’ve not been around the last few days.”

“Days.” Danny said, nodding, eyes hooded as he tilted his head and Stiles closed gap between them.  Their lips met gently and it took a couple of seconds before either boy deepened it, mouths opening and tongues searching. Stiles hands went up into Danny’s hair and he felt the other boys fists bunch into the rich, deep material of his hoodie.  The pair of them pressed together, their kisses becoming more fevered as Danny leant them back on the bed and Stiles ended up flat on his back, his neck being kissed and licked making him gasp with pleasure.

He pulled at Danny’s shirt, trying to get the other boy back up to kiss him again, but it just caused him to sit up and yank the T-shirt over his head in one fluid movement before he dropped back to kissing Stiles’ neck, this time with one hand sneaking up under his hoodie, hot hand pressed against the flat skin of his stomach.  “Oh God!” He murmured, writhing under the touch.

“Stiles.” Danny breathed and came back up to kissing him again.  Together, they shuffled up the bed, legs tangled and groins pressed together, their excitement clear to each other.  Turning to push Danny back on the bed, Stiles sat up and ran his fingers and eyes up and down the other boys exposed chest.  He was muscled, heavily, in a way that Stiles, or even Scott, wasn’t.  Their trainers didn’t want them over muscled as it slowed them down, but clearly Danny worked out to look _good._   “Like what you see?”  He asked and Stiles nodded.

“Errrr... guys.” Isaac’s voice called hesitantly after a timid tap on the door.  “Food’s done and, you know, out and served and ready to eat...” He said and Stiles blushed standing and rearranging himself, trying to tuck his erection away, cursing the loose nature of his sweatpants.

Danny on the other hand just watched him, eyes flashing with interest, though he still called back: “OK, we’ll be right out.” Before slowly rolling off the bed and standing dangerously close to Stiles who slunk back with a laugh.

“Come on.” He said, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie, trying to drag it down to cover his groin.  He heard Danny’s chuckle from behind him but didn’t look back.  On returning to the living area, he found that dinner was, indeed, completely served.  All the plates had food, beers were waiting, the bread had been shared and Scott was sitting at the table with a massive best-friend-I’m-so-mocking-you-later-smile on his face.  Hurrying across the room, Stiles quickly sat and glared at his friend who just chuckled, especially when Danny walked in, still putting his T-shirt back on.

“Thanks for serving Ise.” He said and sat, winking at Stiles who didn’t know what to do - laugh, cry or hide with embarrassment.

“Well, there goes his virtue.” Scott said and Danny laughed, raising his bottle for the other boy to clink glasses with in a toast.

“This looks lovely!” Stiles said loudly, indicating his dinner, “Isaac, did you make it?” The desperation in his voice to change the subject must have been clear as they all settled into friendly chat about work, the match, food and, as it was Stiles, upcoming Marvel films.  They steered clear of the gossip that had been doing the rounds, or what was going on with Stiles and Danny and the meal continued easily. 

One beer turned into two, then three as they turned the large, flat screen TV on (clearly the most expensive, and important, thing in the flat) to watch the highlights.  Manchester United’s game was on first so they settled back to watch themselves on screen.  Danny pulled Stiles down onto the sofa next to him so they could snuggle in, just like he’d promised, which left room for Isaac or Scott on the other end of the couch. Scott collapsed into the beanbag on the floor though, leaving the other boy to look at the last seat next to Stiles like it might bite him.  Eventually, he just turned one of the seats from the kitchen table round, which caused both Scott and Stiles to shift uncomfortably.

“I can move up.” Stiles said, shifting his legs a little, as Scott spoke over him.

“I can sit there, here, have this.”  He got as far as almost standing before Isaac stopped him.

“I’m fine, sit, please. I’m fine here.” He said forcefully and he and Scott shared an intense and overly long look before they both turned their attention to the football, ignoring the confused look shared by Stiles and Danny.

The game itself played out as Stiles had remembered, though the highlights had managed to remove the sound of the crowd’s chants.  Nothing, however, could hide the obvious insults and jeers hurled at Jackson after he scored.  “Why did he do that?” Isaac asked.

“They’d been having a go at him, he was getting them back.”  Stiles explained, though Isaac just looked confused.  “They’d been singing insults at him and as soon as he scored they all went quiet, it was like a ‘you’re not singing now are you’ kind of thing.”

“Oh...” Isaac said again, though he clearly didn’t understand the mentality. Bizarrely, to Stiles at least, Scott was giving the other boy a look of unbound affection, like he thought Isaac not understanding was cute.  Resolving to ask Danny if he knew anything, and to talk to Scott, Stiles started reshuffling what he’d thought he’d known about Scott and Isaac’s friendship.

Lost in thought as he was, it caught him by surprise when the second half started and he was on TV, larger than life. “There you are!” Danny said, hugging Stiles closer and pressing a kiss into a particularly sensitive part of his neck.  He was indeed on screen for a couple of seconds, as was Scott, as they showed the substitutions. 

He always hated watching himself back on highlights, or recordings.  He was so self-critical that even moves that came off seemed ungainly and error-ridden to him.  Having said that, the goal which Scott scored and he set up was nothing short of brilliant.  “Oh my God!” Isaac yelled at Scott’s shoot which was equally as fast as Stiles remembered it being.

“Fucking hell!” Danny agreed, shaking Stiles. “That was _insane._ Rewind it!” He demanded and Isaac scrambled for the remote, though he didn’t need to as the program showed it again and again and again from several different angles.  All four of them agreed that it was magnificent, though both Scott and Stiles tried to down play their own game as much as they tried to big each other up.

After that they skipped a large chunk of the half and before he knew it, Stiles watched himself jog slowly up to the corner.  Knowing what was coming next, he tried to shrink back but Danny just pushed him forward so they were both almost on the edge of their seats.  The corner itself was horrible; it was clearly going to no one, though the goal itself looked great – if you didn’t know that it was meant to be a cross for Jackson.

As the ball crossed the line Danny jumped up, pulling Stiles with him, cheering loudly before grabbing Stiles face in two hands and kissing him deeply.  Somewhere he could hear Scott’s whistles and Isaac’s laughter but nothing else mattered to him than the feel of Danny’s celebration.  A celebration of his goal, a goal which he’d scored for Manchester United, and it was true and right and good.

As the other boy pulled back, Stiles couldn’t help but sigh.  It was a sigh of contentment at having found someone as hot and fun and kind and brilliant as Danny, but also one of longing.  Longing that he’d one day, somehow, be able to do that not tucked away in a flat no one knew about, but out in the world, open and honest. “Well done, babe.” Danny said, kissing him quickly again before the resettled on the sofa.  There was less replays of his goal, though they did show him yelling into the camera; something which made them all laugh, though Stiles still tried not to watch much of it.

After that there was the obligatory discussion of the match, though, unlike the radio, the TV program managed to avoid bringing up the rumours of one of the Man U players being gay.  Stiles settled back into the hug Danny was giving him (apparently, he liked to cuddle) as they chatted about the match and the upcoming final friendly that Saturday.   It was against Liverpool and if there was any match more important than Man City, it was Liverpool.  Both sides had had illustrious histories and, for many years, Manchester United had the better of the Merseyside team.  That had changed the previous season with the last league meeting between the two teams being a resounding win for Liverpool.

When the second game came on Stiles and Scott sat forward.  They both knew they’d be playing Man City before long and any chance they got to see how they played as a team was something they both wanted.  The room was quiet, and while not uncomfortable, there was a seam of tension running through it. 

It wasn’t helped by how impressive Manchester City looked as they racked up the goals.  After one though, a particularly professional goal by Sergio Aguero, he ran to the camera and for a moment Stiles thought he was going to do as he had done and shake the camera, but instead the striker made a heart from his fingers and blew a kiss to the camera.

“Urgh, that is so tacky!” Danny grumbled from behind Stiles.

“Really?” Scott asked, one eyebrow raised.  “Maybe one day someone will do it for you, won’t be as tacky then.” He grinned and Danny laughed, flicking Stiles’ ear.

“Don’t even dare!” Stiles chuckled too, but a small part of his brain wondered about what that would look like in the future if he did.  He could imagine doing it and coming home to Danny, mock grumbling, chasing him around the flat and them collapsing onto a sofa to kiss and hug.

He spent the rest of the program so lost in fantasies that, by the end, Stiles was quite fidgety and sprang up to start clearing up.  Danny joined him, trying to take over but Scott assured him that it was best to just let him do what he needed.  While he started to do the dishes, Danny leaning beside him, amused and smiling, Scott and Isaac made an excuse, something about a book Isaac wanted to lend him, and left the pair alone again.

“You’re doing my dishes.” Danny said, bumping their hips, arms folded, but happy.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just...” He danced a little from foot to foot, trying to show how full of energy he was. 

“No it’s... I just never expected.  I mean... you’re a Premier League footballer, I never thought I’d see you, elbow deep in soap suds, cleaning my Ikea plates.” He smiled and Stiles blinked up at him.

“Ah... not making a great ‘date’ like impression am I?”  Danny just laughed and shook his head.

“I like it.”  The smile on his face was surprised, but honest.

“I’ve never done that.  Dated, I mean...” Stiles admitted, his mind scattering and as hyper as his hands dancing across plates.  “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

“That’s OK. I guessed... I mean, it’s not like it would have been easy for you.”  Danny said, carefully, not prompting, but leaving it open if Stiles did want to talk.

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly nip into G.A.Y in my Fulham kit could I?”

“Well, you could, but that virtue Scott was so in fear of wouldn’t have lasted two minutes.” They shared a small smile. 

“I’m just going to use the bathroom.” Stiles said, which was true, but he was also feeling a little light-headed.  While he tried to tell himself it was from the beer, in all honesty he knew that it was Danny who was making his mind spin. 

He knew that he was going too fast with Danny; that in his head they were boyfriend’s already, whereas, in reality, they’d really only had dinner a couple of times.  They’d not talked about dating, or boyfriends or anything.  All he knew was that they liked each other and they were spending time getting to know each other better.  The fact remained though, that Stiles wanted to be exclusively Danny’s and vice versa.

The trouble was... he had no idea how to go about talking about it.  His last relationship had started with a drunken fumble and it had been Him who’d pursued Stiles and set the boundaries of their half-hearted relationship.  He didn’t want to do that too soon with Danny; didn’t want to scare him off if he was coming on too strong.  In addition to that, he had to contend with the fact that he knew Danny had dated numerous guys in the past and was way more experienced than him.  A not inconsiderable part of Stiles worried he wouldn’t be enough for the other boy, despite his status as a Premiership footballer.

He used his time in the bathroom to try and calm down but eventually just became nervous he’d left Danny too long and went to go back through.  After opening the door though, he noticed the towel he’d used to dry his hands had fallen on the floor so went back to put it back.  As he did, he spotted a kink in his hair and groaned, annoyed he’d not noticed it before.  He leant in to try and sort it and heard Isaac and Scott talking in Isaac’s room; with the doors closed he hadn’t heard them, but now the bathroom door was open, he could just about make out what they were saying.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it just happened, especially after the intriguing first sentence he heard:

“You could have said no, Isaac.” Scott was clearly frustrated.

“No I couldn’t.  No matter what you decide, if Stiles and Danny are going to be a thing, we’re going to be together a lot more, there was no reason for you _not_ to come.” Isaac’s voice was grumpy and Stiles could easily imagine his slumped shoulders.

“Then why are you being like this, you’ve barely said two words to me all night.”

“I know.  But... it’s hard Scott.  I’m trying to give you the space you asked for but... I don’t think I can just sit and make small talk knowing what it is you’re trying to decide.  Everything I think to say, I second guess; what will he think? How will it sound?”

“I’m.... I’m sorry... I’m trying... I am.” Scott sounded genuinely distraught.  “But... I just... Isaac this isn’t something I’ve ever thought of before, the fact that I’m even thinking about it now is kind of freaking me out.”

“Yeah... but that night...”

“I know.  And I don’t regret it for a second, it was the most intense night of my life and you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.” Stiles blinked and strained to hear more. “But, I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know? Honestly? I’m asking.” Isaac said, not demanding, just persistent.

“If I could be with you the way you want.” Stiles jaw dropped as his best friend continued.  “In so many ways I think I could, I really like you, you’re ace and if I didn’t have Stiles I’m sure we’d be best friends.” Stiles tried not to puff up with pride a little at that.  “I want to spend all my time with you too, it’s just all the other stuff... the boyfriend stuff...”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem before.” Isaac’s voice was small and a little hurt.

“No, no I didn’t.  That’s why its messing me up.  Could I be with you? Probably... But... when I think of doing what we did again, or more... it doesn’t excite me the way it should.  Maybe it was the night, or Allison being there.” _Holy shit!_ Stiles thought, clamping a hand over his mouth. _He had a threesome with Isaac and Allison!_ “But I don’t think I want that as much as I should if we were going to explore how far this could go... If it was any guy it’d be you though.”

“Don’t, please.  Just don’t.”

“Look.  I didn’t expect to be here tonight and I wasn’t done... I know you’ve given me time, but... a little more?” Scott asked.

Isaac was quiet for a while, so silent Stiles thought he might have missed the reply, but eventually he heard it.  “Sure.  Though, it sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

“Please Isaac.  Don’t. Just.... come here?” Stiles heard rustling and what sounded like a hug.  Taking his chances he tiptoed back through to the living room where Danny was finishing the dishes.  His head was buzzing from the conversation he’d just overheard and he didn’t know what to do.  Part of him wanted to talk to Danny, see if Isaac had told him about the threesome, but then, that would be betraying Scott’s trust; not that he’d even trusted him with what had happened in the first place.

“You OK?” Danny asked.

“Yeah, just trying to fix my hair, I didn’t realise it was so messy...” He said, aiming to sound playful, but even to his own ears he sounded distracted.

“It was cute.” Danny said with a shrug and a sideways smile.  Stiles just nodded and worried at his bottom lip.  It was so rare that Scott kept a secret from him, which he knew about at any rate, that he didn’t know how to behave.  “Are you OK?” Stiles nodded and accepted a hug as Danny sidled up to him. “Come on.” The taller boy took him by the hand and led him back to his bed room.  After turning on a bedside lamp and switching off the main overhead light, creating a dim, dusky hue in the room, Stiles was pulled down onto the bed. “Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?” Danny asked, a sultry smirk on his face.

“Well...” Stiles said slowly, hoping the dim light hid his blush. “You weren’t wearing this, definitely...” He said, flicking at the tight T-shirt.  Danny grinned and peel it off slowly, flexing a little as he did.

“I don’t think you were wearing yours either...” He said, grabbing at Stiles’ hoodie.

“Errrr. I think I was...” He said with a smile as Danny ignored him and pulled off his hoodie and T-shirt at the same time leaving him shirtless and self-conscious in front of the bigger boy.  He tried to resist the urge to cross his arms, covering himself, trusting that Danny did actually want to see him like that. 

“Fuck you’re hot.” The other boy breathed banishing the doubt he’d been clinging too.  Given that encouragement Stiles surged forward and kissed Danny hard, pushing him back onto the bed.  They both went down laughing and they scooted up the bed to lie, side by side, legs tangled and lips and tongues meeting and exploring.  Stiles revelled in the warmth of the other boy, loved the soft, firm feel of his skin. 

Rolling back and forth each boy took turns on top, pinning the other down, kissing necks and chests, fingers and hands dancing lower and lower, each seemingly daring the other to be the first to go below the belt.  Eventually it was Danny who made the first move.  He was on his back, Stiles kissing at his neck, when he snaked a hand between them and under the waistband of Stiles’ tracksuit bottoms.  “Is this OK?” He asked and Stiles just nodded, biting his lips and trying not to groan at the feel of Danny’s calloused, firm grip around his cock.

Rolling to the side, Stiles focused on the bulge in Danny’s jeans, with a nod of encouragement he used his free hand to pop the button and slide his hand in to grip the other boys’ erection.  Danny instantly moaned and bucked, trying to create friction and Stiles found his breathing become ragged as they both started stroking each other. 

With a sudden grunt Danny shifted and yanked at Stiles bottoms, pulling them down to mid-thigh exposing him fully to the other boy who just stared at him, lust-filled eyes blown wide.  Without taking his gaze off Stiles, Danny shuffled out of his jeans, leaving him completely naked.  Stiles reached back for the other boy’cock and hefted it’s hot, heavy weight in his hand.  It was long and hard and smooth and he could jerk it easily, pre-cum already giving it a slick, easy motion.

Raising up on one elbow, Danny leaned over to kiss Stiles as the rate of their motions increased.  Before long, both boys were panting and writhing, kisses forgotten, lips close though, sharing breath as the familiar tingling started at the base of Stiles spine.  His hips rose up and he turned his head, unused to being so close to someone when about to cum.  As the orgasm built he tried to remember to keep stroking Danny’s cock, though his rhythm faltered as his gasps grew and heat flashed through him.

“Oh my fuck!” Stiles gasped, trying not to be too loud, a small part of his brain still aware that Scott and Isaac were nearby.  His orgasm hit fully and he bucked against Danny’s hand, so different from his own.  Ribbons of hot, white cum shot up his stomach and chest, rope after rope until he was left panting and spent.

Even in his post-orgasmic haze, Stiles responded to the soft pressure of Danny’s kisses and, without opening his eyes, started stroking the other boy’s length.  “God, you’re so hot right now.” Danny murmured, kisses ending as his breathing deepened.  “Spent and covered in cum...” Stiles blushed but kept going.  “Want you so bad, want your cock, want you Stiles... Stiles... Mmmm, mmmmmmm” He bit his lips and groaned through his orgasm, cum spilling out and adding to the pool on Stiles stomach.

Despite himself, he laughed.  Giggled almost, though, to his delight, Danny laughed too.  “I’m a mess.”

“Sorry...” Danny said, rolling away and getting up off the bed to grab a towel that had been hanging up on the radiator.  Wiping himself off he threw it to Stiles who caught it and wiped the cum off his stomach.  Chuckling, Danny crawled back on the bed and took a corner of the towel, smoothing the fluffy cotton across his chest, catching the spunk Stiles had missed.

“Oh my God!” Stiles laughed at the intimacy.  When he had spent weekends or evenings with Him, He was never really that affectionate, or caring.  Their relationship was much more two friends who fucked at the end of the night. In one evening, Danny had shown more care, humour and attention than He ever had.

“It’s fine, I hope that was OK...?” Danny asked, looking hopeful.

“What? Yeah... great, I mean, was it OK for you...?” Stiles, pulled up his tracksuit bottoms, his nakedness suddenly making him feeling more vulnerable than he’d expected.

“Yeah, yeah...” Danny cuddled into Stiles side.  “I’m just... well, we didn’t really talk and I don’t know how much... experience you have.” 

“Oh.” Stiles said, wrapping his arms around the other boy, allowing him to cuddle into him.  He thought back and realised he’d never really told Danny about Him.  “OH!” He repeated, a thought clicking. “I’m not a virgin.  There was a guy, another footballer, _so_ not out.  We used to fool around a bit, well, a lot.  He was a bit older than me, kind of showed me the ropes.” He stopped there, trying not to grimace at the memories which surfaced. 

“Oh... OK... so, you’re OK with, like, this, then...?” Danny asked, head resting on Stiles’ chest.

“Yeah, of course, if you are?” Stiles asked, his insecurity shining through once more.

“Yeah.  So, you’re playing Saturday?” He said, changing the subject.

“Maybe, maybe not.  There’s still quite a few players who haven’t played yet and I know van Gaal will want to beat Liverpool.  I’ll probably be on the bench.”

“Hmmmmm. So... can I see you Saturday night or Sunday maybe?” He asked, quietly and Stiles got the feeling he was a nervous.

“Yeah, I’d like that, but... aren’t you going out Saturday?” Isaac had mentioned someone’s birthday and he’d given the impression it was a big night out.

“Maybe, but if you’re free, I think I’d want to see you.” Danny admitted and Stiles smiled.

“I’d like that, but it’s a late game so we won’t be back til well into the night... How about a movie-marathon on Sunday, if you still want to...” He ended, trying not to think about why the boy in his arm’s might not want to.

“Course I will, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, like, if you went out and met someone else...” He mumbled, shrugging a little.

Danny sat up and looked at him confused.  “Met someone?”

“Yeah... I’ve not been out clubbing much but I know what it’s like... and you look, like you,” he gestured.

“I’m not going out meeting other guys. I _like_ you.  That means I’m not looking for anyone else.  Are you?” He asked, confusion giving way to nervousness.  Apparently looking like a Tom of Finland model didn’t stop someone being anxious at the start of a relationship.

“No! No way!” Stiles said and Danny laughed happily, “Who would I meet anyway... it’s not like the Premiership is full of men hoping to get with a hyperactive kid who’s playing way out of his league!”

Danny went back to looking confused. “Playing way out of your league? Did you not see the game today, you were brilliant.”  Stiles just shrugged. “So... this is a thing then.  Like exclusive?” Danny’s question was met with a happy nod, though Stiles ducked his head to hide his grin.  For all his worry about coming on too strong, it was Danny who had broached the subject. 

Before he could continue, his phone beeped and he fished it out of his pocket:

 

Scott, 11:05pm  
Hey, Im getting pretty beat.  Ive called  
Marin for a car – are you staying over?   
These guys must have really thick walls huh?  
Coz I didnt hear anything at all. Nope. Not  
one peep. J

 

Blushing, Stiles quickly reached for his top.

“What’s going on?” Danny asked and Stiles leant in to kiss his boyfriend, delighting in the thought as much as the kiss.

“That was just Scott, he’s got us a car to head home.”

“Oh...” Danny looked a little crestfallen; clearly he’d hoped Stiles would want to stay with him.

“Next time I’ll sleep here, promise, but... I need to speak to Scott and we’ve not been home for days.  Is that OK?” He asked, knowing he’d stay if he was asked.

“It’s fine, gimmie a second.” Danny reached under his pillow for perfectly folded pyjamas which he quickly put on.  Checking he had everything and looked OK he opened the door and headed back through to the living room where Scott was waiting, flicking through channels.  His grin told Stiles all he needed to know and he rolled his eyes, refusing to be embarrassed considering how many times he’d heard Scott and Allison going at it.

“You good to go?” He asked, ignoring the smile and Scott nodded.  They chatted a little while they waited for the car, though Isaac stayed in his room.   Stiles asked  Danny to pass on his thanks for a nice evening and accepted another hug and kiss when the driver called Scott to let him know the car was there.  “I’ll speak to you tomorrow?” He asked and Danny nodded, opening the door for them.  He looked happy and content and, with his dishevelled head and loose fitting nightwear, was as cute as Stiles had seen him.

As they walked down the stairs to the pavement, Scott kept quiet but watched his friend with a massive grin on his face.  With each step away from Danny though, Stiles worried more about whether or not to talk to Scott about what he’d overheard.  

Making his decision as he got to the car, he realised that as tired as he was, his evening wasn’t quite over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it...


	15. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles have a meal with their family and friends

Having made the decision to discuss Scott’s night with Allison and Isaac, Stiles was met with the difficult decision of how to bring up what he knew and how he knew it.  Somehow he knew that ‘hey I heard you talking when I was eavesdropping’ wouldn’t go down well, but didn’t see any way around it. 

Scott himself was clearly tired, so tired he wasn’t even ribbing Stiles about what had just happened with Danny, though that may have been the presence of a driver too.  Either way though, he was quiet on the trip back and when they got out of the car, stretched and yawned before heading into their building.

On their way up to their flat, Stiles watched his friend.  “How you doing?”

Scott’s head snapped up, clearly he’d been miles away. “Huh? Oh... Fine. Tired.” He said with a smile.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’ll bet you are.” Scott murmured not even bothering to hide his grin. 

“Oh, shut up...” He grumbled but still smiled.  Stiles refused to be the sappy mess his best friend had been when he first got together with Allison though. “Listen...” He waited until they’d through their front door, Scott leading them in.  “I just wanted to say... Tonight? With you and Isaac? Something’s going on there and I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk to me about it, I’m here.”  Scott didn’t say anything, didn’t turn and look at him, just hunched his shoulders a little then gave nodded his head slowly.  “I am right though?” Stiles asked to his friend’s back as he walked towards his room.  “Something’s there?”

Scott stopped in his doorway, have turning but not looking up.  “Yeah. Maybe.  I’m tired Stiles.”

“Sorry, sure. I’m here, OK man?” He asked, wanting to comfort his friend but not knowing how.

“I know.  Just... not now.” Scott said and retreated into the sanctity of his room.  Stiles just watched as the door clicked shut, standing in the living room alone, wishing he knew what to do.  Normally, his friendship with Scott was the only thing he _did_ know and everything else was the mess.  At that moment it felt the reverse was true.  He had a boyfriend, he was playing for Manchester United and, if the pundits were too believed, playing well. He had friends, family and life was good, but his best friend was in pain and he didn’t know how to fix it.  Wishing he could find the right words, but knowing he couldn’t, he slunk into his own bedroom and own bed, defeated.

 

*             *             *

 

The following day’s training started at noon with a review of the friendly against Millwall.  Despite winning 5-0, there was still plenty of room for improvement especially in their positioning and placement and they spent the afternoon drilling formations and adapting to changing situations under Derek and Louis’ instruction. 

They also had a discussion about what would be happening in the upcoming Liverpool match.  Essentially, Louis sat them all down and explained that, while he was happy with the start Jackson and Scott had made, he wanted to play all his players in the friendlies, and, with each of them having played midweek, was starting Rooney and van Persie up front.  This news was greeted with nods, especially from Scott how was told he’d be subbed on towards the end of the match depending on the game.  van Gaal then turned to Stiles to add, almost as an afterthought, that if Scott went on he would be too, even adding an ‘obviously’, like they couldn’t play separately.

Jackson did start to grumble when he was told he wouldn’t be on the bench at all.  He’d played the full ninety against Millwall and van Gaal wanted to rest him but it looked like Jackson was about to argue until Derek placed a large and heavy hand on his shoulder.  Stiles was impressed that their captain not only could settle the famously arrogant player, but had clearly expected the boy to argue and was standing ready to do so if needed.

Nonetheless it was a light afternoon and Stiles found himself full of energy after showering, even more so when he checked his phone.

 

Pops, 3:00pm  
Hi! Tell Scott to turn his phone on!  
Allison was trying to phone him and   
is coming up to stay too, so I’m giving  
her a lift! That’s OK, right?

 

Stiles trotted over to Scott and shared the news that his friend’s ex was currently in a car with his Dad, both on their way to with them.  Scott’s reaction was reserved; no doubt he was still trying to work out his feelings for Isaac and having Allison up would no doubt either confuse him more, or maybe help clarify what he wanted.

“I’ll take a sofa.” Stiles offered; their original plan had been to bunk in together, giving Stiles’ Dad his room. 

“OK... Maybe we’ll both be on the sofas.” Though they were in the changing room and semi-surrounded by teammates, it was too good an opening to not ask about what was going on.

“Do you not want her to come?” He dropped his voice as low as he could and still be heard.

Scott paused, thinking carefully. “I do... it’s just.  Alli’s very solution focused you know and she’ll push me to make a decision about... everything.  I just wanted more time...” He shrugged and finished lacing up his boots.  Stiles watched his friend’s hung head and wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug Scott, but, all things considered, decided against it.

“I’ll wait for you outside?” He asked and, at his friend’s nod, left the changing room, texting his dad; which was why he didn’t notice Lydia striding up the corridor and almost walked into her.  “Whoa!” He cried, spinning to avoid her.

“Graceful Stilinski.” She looked at him like he was nothing more than an irksome child she couldn’t get rid of.

“Sorry, texting...” He explained, holding up his phone, like it was evidence which would prove him innocent of bumbling into her.

“Uh-huh. Is it Allison? She told me she was heading up, I thought we might go for food? I’ve been dying to try The Restaurant at Manchester House for a while now but don’t want to go alone.”

“Can’t you go with all your friends from the Board?” Stiles asked sarcastically and was met with yet another haughty look.

“Hardly.”

“OK, well, I’d suggest Friday, but we’ve got the game on Saturday, so I take it you’re thinking tonight?

“Obviously.” While he enjoyed the diminutive red-head’s company, there was only so many times she could direct a look of snotty derision before he was going to just have to walk away.

“Alright, alright.  I’ll check with Dad, who’s coming up too, and Scott, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Great.” She said, clipped, but happy. “Jackson will be coming too, so I’ll book for six people, yes?” Stiles thought for a moment and stopped her before she walked away.

“Actually, if we’re all going out, I’d like to invite Danny and Isaac too?” He didn’t elaborate further, but having spent time with the tailors at the season launch party, Lydia didn’t seem too put out.

“Fine.  I’ll book for seven o’clock.  I expect you all there by then.” She said and strode away, confident and completely in control.

Stiles shook his head, but texted his dad and Allison, letting them know the plan then popped back into the changing room to tell Scott and Jackson.  Both were happy enough with the plan, though Jackson seemed more interested in what Lydia had said about him than where they were going.  After that, the only thing left to do was phone Danny.  Stiles went back out into the corridor and, after checking no one was around, called his boyfriend.

Danny picked up after a few rings. “Hello you! You done with training?”

“Yeah, just about.  How you doing?”

“Good.  We finished off your other suits, you and Scott’s, today.  Plus we got the GQ proof through and it looks amazing!” Danny said with a laugh.

“Brilliant... you’ll be inundated with new orders then.”

“Hence finishing your suits.  You want me to get Dad to bring them over?”

Stiles paused and grimaced.  “I wish I could say that you could bring them.”

“I know, it’s OK, I get it.  It’s fine.  So Dad?” Danny asked, sounding genuinely unconcerned.

“Actually yeah that would be great.  We’ll be home in about half an hour? But listen... that’s not why I phoned.  I just ran into Lydia, she found out that Allison and my Pops are on their way up and wanted us all to go to dinner.  I wanted to see if you fancied it?” He asked, as breezily as he could. “My treat.” He added.

“So, like a group thing?” Danny asked, not sounding unhappy about the prospect.

“Yeah... me, my dad, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson then you and Isaac if you both want?”

“Oh, Jackson’s going? I’ll definitely be there then.” Stiles could hear the mocking in the other boy’s voice and knew he was being riled so said nothing.  “Just kidding, sounds fun.  Plus, you know... another non-date, we’re getting good at that.” He said and Stiles wanted to groan.

“I’m sorry Danny, I really am.”

“Hey! I’m kidding, it’s fine.”

“I know, but... I _want_ to take you on non-non-dates, I’d love to take you to fancy meals and shows and parties and clubs and just... everything.” Stiles finished hopelessly, scuffing his feet and kicking out at nothing.

Danny’s voice was softer, “I know babe.” Stiles smiled at the endearment, his boyfriend’s London twang always appeared when he called him it.   “I want that too, but you are you are and you do what you do.  If that means we can’t be typical boyfriends, we’ll be atypical.”  That made Stiles smile even more.  “So long as you don’t mind, I don’t mind.  We’ll work it out.”

“OK.” He said, calmer and happier again; Danny always seemed to know exactly what to say to calm him down.

“Ok.”

“Sure.”

“So... what’s the plan?” Danny asked and Stiles filled him in on the details.  Before he hung up though, he had to check one last thing:

“Hey, does your dad know about us? Like dating? I don’t mind if you’ve told him, like.” He added quickly.

“Nope.  I’ll tell him if you want, but, Dad and secrets? Not always the best of friends, I’d suggest we keep him in the dark for now...”

“Gotcha...” Stiles said, happier that he’d be able to interact with Danny’s Father without the added layer of him being his boyfriend’s Dad too.  “See you at Manchester House then yeah?”

“Sure thing. Dad’ll leave soon, he’ll be with you in a bit.  See you at seven.”  Danny agreed and they said their goodbyes.  Stiles couldn’t help the spring that was in his step, even after Scott appeared, dragging his feet behind him.

 

*             *             *

 

The four of them, Stiles, Scott, Allison and Stiles’ dad, all reached their flat at roughly the same time. Their guests were only waiting for them for a couple of seconds and they were all met with hugs and celebrations.  When they got inside though, Allison shared something which made Stiles’ heart sink.

“I’m pretty sure there was a photographer in one of the cars outside.” She said as they were heading into the flat.

“What?!” Scott asked, clearly surprised.

“I thought so too.” Tom admitted with a grimace at Stiles.  He’d have had no way of knowing that Stiles had hoped to be able to invite Danny back to the flat at some point in the future, but if there were paparazzi still watching them, it wasn’t the best idea.

“I’ll call Marin.” Scott said with a sigh, heading for his room.  Stiles went about offering drinks and catching up with his Dad.  He kept grinning.  He’d missed his father and having him in Manchester for a couple of days would make everything better, he knew.  He’d already planned to borrow Allison the following day for a shopping trip to leave his dad with Scott, hoping that an outside ear might help his friend unload his worries.

They were all still discussing the Millwall game, Allison and Tom both waxing lyrical about Stiles’ performance, when Scott reappeared.  “She’ll look into it.”  He said and accepted the beer Stiles offered.  They’d both have a couple of drinks, but neither would be getting drunk.  As he opened his mouth to move on the buzzer on their flat went. Stiles, being closer, went to check it and smiled as he heard Danny’s dad through the intercom. 

“Come on up.” He said and explained to the rest that it was just Mr Mahealani with the new suits.  Allison burst into a wide smile and hurried to the door, Stiles had forgotten that her mum and Danny’s dad were friends and she’d probably know the tailor well.

“Elijah!” She said with a wave as soon as the tall, broad man strode into view.  He gave the girl a smile just as wide and laughed and incredulous laugh.

“Allison?! What are you doing here?” He held the suit bags off to one said and pulled her in for a hug.  Inching carefully around them, Stiles took the suits from Danny’s dad who gave him a grateful look and hugged Allison closer.

“I’m visiting the boys.” She said, happiness clear in her voice. “Come on in.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t...” He tried to beg off but Stiles added his voice to Allison’s and they all but pushed him inside where he was greeted warmly by Scott and politely, but interestedly, but Tom.  Stiles’ Dad knew about Danny and by extension, knew that this man was his son’s boyfriend’s father.  What he didn’t know, however, was if Danny’s dad knew the two boys were dating.  As Stiles hoped, Tom erred on the side of caution and didn’t allude to the relationship, no doubt as Allison was there too and she still didn’t know about him and Danny either.

Allison managed to persuade Elijah to have a beer with them, giving Stiles and Scott and excuse to get changed for dinner; Allison looked fine and said she’d just touch up her makeup before leaving whereas Stiles’ dad just looked, deadpan, at his son when he was asked if he was going to change for dinner.  That really wasn’t something Tom Stilinski did – what he was wearing was what he was wearing and anyone who didn’t like it, could lump it as for as he was concerned.

As they both immerged from their room, accidentally simultaneously, their three guests all showed their appreciation in their own unique way: Allison laughed and clapped her hands; Tom raised one eyebrow but smiled and nodded; Elijah pursed his lips and studied them minutely before giving one clear nod.  Stiles had to admit they looked good; Danny and Isaac had done a great job on their clothes.  Neither suit was particularly flashy, or as unique as the ones they wore to the launch party, but both were well cut and fitted them perfectly.

Allison took a bunch of photos of them all and sent a few to her Mum, who instantly called and was passed over to Elijah who moved to one of the sofas to catch up with his friend.  As Allison went to freshen up, Stiles was left with Scott and his Dad who shook his head at his son.  “When did you get so grown up, huh?”

“Pops.” He rebuked, giving his dad a look; they didn’t do mushy, it was like an unwritten rule between them.

“Whatever.  I’m proud of you son, both of you.” He took Scott in with his look too.  “So...” He looked over his shoulder at Danny’s dad. “Does he know?”

Stiles shook his head, but it was Scott who spoke. “Neither does Allison, at least... I’ve never told her and she’s never asked...”

“OK, OK.  He seems nice though.” Tom shrugged, taking another pull of his beer. 

“Yeah.  So’s Danny, you’ll like him...” Stiles tried and his Dad raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll see...”  He said with a smile and Stiles groaned; maybe he hadn’t thought this parent’s meeting thing through.

 

*             *             *

 

When they got to the restaurant, they quickly found Lydia and Danny but no Isaac. 

“He couldn’t make it, had some things he couldn’t get out of.” Danny said, standing and shaking Stiles’ hand with a wry smile on his face.  They were on the twelfth floor and there wasn’t a photographer in sight, but enough of the clientele had gone silent and watched Stiles and Scott as they came in; clearly they’d been recognised and, with every phone being a camera, understandably Danny didn’t want to risk anything.

“Fair enough,” Stiles said, watching Scott out of the corner of his eye, trying to ascertain whether the news was good or bad for his friend.  “Errrrr, Danny this is my dad, Pops, Danny.” Stiles said, stepping back and introducing them.

“Pleasure to meet you, Sir.” Danny extended his hand to shake and Tom grabbed it firmly, shaking it hard.

“Uh-huh.” Stiles had warned his dad not to been too imposing but it seemed he couldn’t resist intimidating the guy dating his son. As they joined their friends at the table the restaurant manager appeared offering them a more secluded table, clearly having recognised Scott and Stiles, or if he hadn’t, someone on the staff had.  Lydia accepted for them and they were shown through to an off shoot room, still connected to the main restaurant, but more private too.  This was reinforced by the server who was stationed at the door, theirs for the evening to insure ‘they weren’t disturbed’, the host informed them. 

“That’s fine, Jackson Whittemore will be joining us presently, but that’ll be our party.”

“Very good.” The man bowed a little and back off, quickly replaced by the sommelier who was also commandeered by Lydia.  Stiles watched amused as she expertly discussed wines and chose some of the most expensive bottles for the table along with some bottled water.

“Errrr... I’d like a beer.” Stiles’ dad asked as the sommelier left and Lydia paused for only half second before nodding.

“Christopher.” She said and the man stationed at the door turned to her, face open and attentive.  Stiles smiled and ruefully shook his head, of course, _of course,_ Lydia would know the name of their server despite being certain they’d not been told it.  “A premium beer for Mr Stilinski too, please.” The man nodded and wrote a note on a pad, hanging it off to another passing waiter.

They sat at immaculately mismatched vintage chairs around a lushly laid table and Lydia immediately started peppering Tom with questions about London and Stiles as a child.  Before long the table were all in stitches, though Stiles himself sat with arms folded, looking glum, though secretly he was delighted.  His Dad clearly enjoyed meeting his son’s friends, enjoyed sharing the pride he clearly had in him.

Perfectly timed, though a little late, Jackson appeared as the story of Stiles breaking his first captain’s nose was finishing.  The table all greeted him warmly and he nodded at everyone before striding straight to Lydia and kissing her on the cheek.  Stiles watched, surprised, as the usually unflappable young woman merely blushed and nodded.  He went to share a surprised look with Scott, but in the end shared it with his best friend, his boyfriend and his dad; he wasn’t used to having three people who knew him well enough to know his thoughts from a look, but he like it.

As he sat, opposite Danny, giving him a bro-nod, he asked, “Where’s your other gay-lord?”  Danny just rolled his eyes but Scott and Stiles’ Dad both barked a ‘Hey!’ at him.

“What?!” Jackson demanded, trying to look innocent, but a smirk settled into his features as he sat back.

“That’s not acceptable language young man.” Stiles’ dad was using his ‘police-voice’ and pointing at Jackson who, seemingly despite himself, sat up straighter.  Stiles knew from long experience that it was nigh-on impossible to ignore being addressed like that; like you should know better and were being childish.

“Oh, come on, he is a lord of the gays, it’s a compliment.” Jackson tried, smiling at Lydia who looked away, not granting him an escape.

“Over-compensating much, Whittemore.” Allison mumbled, loud enough for everyone to hear, though, with the manner in which she was fondling her knife, he comment had a more dangerous edge than Stiles had expected.

“For what?!” He asked sharply.  “I know I’m not gay.  Hell, if I was, I’d be out in a heartbeat – I’d make millions in sponsorship.  If one of them is?” He said, still addressing Allison, but pointing at Stiles and Scott, “Then they’ve heard worse, most of it directed at me on Wednesday.” For the first time, Jackson sounded angry and bitter. “So back off, sister.” He finished, reaching for the wine and pouring himself a large glass.

“He’s busy.” Danny said into the silence as most of the table glared at the newcomer.  “And you,” Danny said, leaning forward, “are being a dick.  So... fuck off back out and come back more polite, or... just fuck off.” He ended with a massive, grin, daring Jackson not to do as he was told. 

The striker looked around the table, almost incredulous but, at Lydia’s definite nod, stood, making a show of sighing but walked back out and then came back in, with a jolly. “Hi guys.”  Stiles rolled his eyes at the false enthusiasm. 

“Well, that didn’t work.  He’s still a dick.” Danny said with a smile and a shrug, a declaration which was met with chuckles, though Jackson scowled and slunk back to his chair.  “Hey Jackson.” Danny said, catching his eye.  “That was an amazing goal by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He grumbled.

“No, seriously.  It was almost as good as the one you scored against Juventus last year.” 

At this Jackson sat up a little more. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, but this one was more polished, did you and Herrera practice that?” He asked, sounding sincere, like he hadn’t told the other boy he was a dick less than one minute before.

“Not really.  Hale makes us drill all these plays though, it was kind of like one of them.”

“What do you mean kind of?” And, with that, Jackson was off, chatting about football, all insults forgotton.  Stiles shared a look with his dad, nodding at Danny and his father nodded back; they were both impressed with how he’d handled that. Eventually he and Scott joined the discussion until Allison demanded that they limit all football chat to five minutes in every hour.

As the meal progressed and people started shifting into their own conversations, Stiles found that, as uncharitable as it sounded, Lydia, Allison and Jackson weren’t there.  He suspected Allison probably knew that when Derek was talking about one of the new starts being gay, he meant him.  She’d never said anything, but there was just something the way she looked at him, and him and Danny, that was a little too knowing.  Stiles knew Scott wouldn’t have said anything, but Allison was nothing if not astute.  He just wanted to be able to smile at Danny without wondering if anyone was watching, was reading into it.  He wanted to be able to reach out and take his boyfriend’s hand.  He wanted to be able to talk about them dating, make plans, talk without talking around anything.  Instead, he basically had to leave his Dad and Danny to get to know each other; he didn’t even feel he could give Danny half the attention he deserved.

Nonetheless, the meal was fun and the food delicious.  He’d forever remember his dad’s face when his main arrived; he’d ordered what he thought would be a steak and what came out was a wooden tray with meat, meat, more meat and a _horn_ full of gravy.  His father had looked at his dish in sheer disbelief but had certainly enjoyed all the red meat, even if he did eat it under his son’s baleful glare. 

Upon leaving, Stiles was aware of some of the other dinners snapping pictures of them on their phones; Christopher had done a great job on the door keeping people from trying to get pictures or autographs and Lydia had ensured a substantial tip would be heading his way.  However, it did mean that the patrons who did want pictures only had a few short steps to get them as they left.  Stiles hated that Danny hung back, leaving last, while being incredibly grateful that he did.  Hating himself for a coward, he strode out with his father, giving the dinners a wave and a smile as he left, though not stopping.

When they got out into the biting cold of the night Stiles was surprised by a lone photographer stepping up and snapping his picture.  With a smile, the thin man, greeted him warmly.  “Stilinksi! Who’s this?” He asked, nodding at Tom.

“Errr... my father.” He said and the man nodded.

“Quick photo?” He asked and Stiles checked with his dad who nodded and shrugged.  The man’s camera clicked numerous times in only a couple of seconds.  “Cheers guys.” He said, ushering them out of the way as Scott and Allison appeared behind them.  “Scott, Allison. Quick picture?” He was smarmy and smooth, but they’d all been given the advice when accosted by photographers; if you have a few seconds to let them get their picture they’ll normally leave you alone, but if you ran off, or tried to stop them, those photos would always surface and make you look bad.

“Sure.” Scott said and Allison slipped in next to him, arm going around his waist.  They tilted their bodies towards each other, like they’d done dozens of times before and Stiles knew that, by the weekend, this picture would be in the weekly magazines under ‘Together Again?’ headline.  Allison and Scott would know it too and Stiles caught the worried frown on Scott’s face as the photographer’s flash lit his friend’s face.  He suspected that Scott would be phoning Isaac when they got in, warning him of the picture appearing somewhere either online, or in a magazine.

“Thanks, so are you two a couple again?” The photographer asked, no doubt thinking if he could sell them as a confirmed couple again, he’d get more.

“We’re good friends.” Allison said, smiling.

“Just visiting your friend then.” The photographer asked, clarifying.

Allison nodded, “Scott, Stiles and new friends like Lydia.” She smiled and nodded behind her.

“Gotcha. Jackson!” The photographer yelled, spotting yet another footballer.  “Quick pic?”

“Sure!” He said, pulling Lydia into his side. “Can’t be on my own can I?” He asked with a smile and, despite shaking her head, smiled brightly into the camera.

“Is this your girlfriend?” The man asked and Stiles frowned.  This photographer had a lot more questions than most.  Normally they just snapped pictures and nodded thanks.  Rarely did they questions, unless they were after something specific.  Wanting to smack himself in the forehead for being so dim he realised that his guy was trying to attach these pictures to the gay rumours.

“I’m on the board of Manchester United.”Lydia responded in clipped dry tunes.

“So... girlfriend?” The guy asked and Jackson laughed.

“I’m working on it.” He said and Stiles glared, along with Lydia.  Whether he meant to do it or not, she’d just become his straight cover.  With the rumour mill almost completely certain he was the one Derek was talking about, these pictures would change that, or, at the very least, start the conversation all over again.  Sometimes, he could just punch Jackson Whittemore.

When the photos were finished being taken, Danny slipped out of the door and walked over to Allison and Scott, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible.  The photographer didn’t even glance his way, completely absorbed in  looking at his photo’s on the digital display.  “Thanks everyone these are great, good luck Saturday.” He called, striding away to a parked car where a driver was waiting.  Again, something niggled at Stiles. Photographer’s normally didn’t have drivers. Before he could worry much more, the taxi’s they’d called appeared and goodbyes were shared.  Danny once more shook everyone’s hand, Stiles’ included.

“I’ll call when I get in.” He said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles said but Danny just shook his head and smiled before moving on to shake Tom’s hand. 

“A pleasure to meet you, son.”

“You too, sir.”

“Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.” He added, essentially giving Danny his blessing. 

Both he and Stiles grinned briefly at each other and Danny winked before getting in to his cab, waving to everyone else as he went.  Lydia and Jackson took the next and Stiles wondered whether, maybe, Jackson really was working on the girlfriend-thing.

The taxi ride back to the flat was spent reliving the meal, all of them excited and pleased with how tasty it was and full they were.  Stiles knew that he’d pay for it in the morning at training, but he reasoned you had to have a blow out every now and again.  When they got in, he started setting up a sofa to sleep on while his dad tried to argue that he should sleep on the couch, not his son. 

While he was getting the spare pillows, Scott’s phone rang and he answered: “Hello Marin.” He said it loudly enough for Stiles to hear, which he did and he went to stand next to Scott, pillow in hand.

“Hello Mr McCall.  Can you talk?”

“Errrr, sure.  We’re just in from dinner.”

“I see.  I need to talk to you about a photograph.” She sounded serious and tense and despite the happiness and general joy of the evening, a feeling of dread settled into the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it.


	16. Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A newspaper has a story to print.

“Wow! That was fast, he only took it, like 20 minutes ago, what did he do send it straight to you?”  Scott asked, clearly thinking about the photographer outside the restaurant.

“What are you talking about? I’ve had this photo for two hours.”

“How, he just took it?”

“Mr McCall.” That was never good.  Marin only called someone Mr when she was seriously annoyed.  “What photograph are you talking about?”

“The one outside the restaurant? Of me and Allison?” He sounded as confused as Stiles was.

“No. This is a photography of you and Isaac Lahey.  You’ve your arm around his waist and he has his over your shoulders.  The newspaper I’ve got this from claim they have a source saying he’s your boyfriend and want to publish.”  Stiles’ jaw dropped and he watched as Scott went white, hand starting to tremble.

“What?” He breathed, eventually.  Allison and Tom noticed his reaction and stood to walk towards him.  Stiles stopped them with one hand and guided Scott back into his bedroom as Marin started talking again.

“Apparently, The Sun has obtained a photograph of you and Isaac Lahey in which you appear to be a couple and have a source, all they said was it was a friend of yours, who says Isaac Lahey is your boyfriend.  I’ve got our lawyers working on getting it stopped and, hold please.” She paused and they could hear her talking to someone in the background.  “OK, well.  We’ve managed to convince them not to run the photo tomorrow, though it may be they just want to hold it until Saturday.  I’ll need to speak to you first thing tomorrow morning.  But... I don’t want to be insensitive but... Can I ask, is there any reason to believe that this photo is faked?”

“I don’t know, I can’t think...” Scott said and looked at Stiles who blinked then quickly pulled his own phone out and tapped, pulling up his album.  He scrolled back to the first night they’d spent at Danny and Isaac’s.  “Oh my God.  Am I wearing a black Man U hoodie and he’s in a white and grey long sleeved t-shirt?”

Marin was quiet for a second. “So it’s real.” She confirmed, not quite a question.

“Yes, the photo is... but we’re not, he’s not...” Scott couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.

“Ahhhhh... this changes things.  So, you and Mr Lahey aren’t involved?” She sounded more upbeat but Scott grimaced.

“I can’t really discuss that with you.”

This time Marin’s silence lasted longer.  “I see.” She was back to cold and professional and both boys winced.  “So I am not in a position to issue a blanket denial?”

“No.” Scott admitted in a small voice.  Stiles hated how broken he sounded and how responsible he felt.

“I see. I think this needs to be a longer conversation.  I’ve got written, legal, confirmation that they won’t publish their picture for 24 hours and that’s in print or online so, I suggest you talk to who you need to and try to get some rest.  We’ll meet in the morning, though... if I may... I would be very careful about any conversations you have with Mr Lahey and please, don’t put anything in writing... emails, texts, that kind of thing.”

Scott shook his head. “What are you saying? You don’t think Isaac is the one who gave the photo, do you?”

“I don’t know, Mr McCall.  All I know is there’s a veritable shitstorm heading your way and we have 24 hours to stop it.” 

“Christ.”  He muttered and shook his head again.

“Try to get some rest.” Marin added a little more kindly, “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

Scott dropped his phone down onto the bed and scrubbed his hands over his face.  Stiles sat, hand hovering over his friend’s shoulder, unsure if he’d welcome the support.  Once again he felt guilty about this being a story, guilty that he’d been the catalyst that had put them all under such intense scrutiny.  “Sorry.” He mumbled and let his hand drop on his friend’s shoulder.

“It’s not you.” Scott said, reaching up an gripping Stiles’ hand tightly.  “It’s just... This isn’t something I can talk about.  I’m not gay...” He was addressing the floor, not really focusing.  “If I was, if me and Isaac were... something... I’d just say we were.  But, we’re not... I don’t think we will be, but we could have been... I just don’t... I don’t want to have to do this all through the press.”

“Marin’s stopped it tonight, right? Maybe the lawyers will stop it completely...”

Scott gave him a short, sharp look of incredulity.  “I doubt it. Jesus... I need to phone Isaac.”

“Do you want me to go...?” Stiles asked and Scott nodded.

“Can you tell Alli and Dad?”

“Course, no sweat.” He reached over and pulled his friend in for a hug which was long and tight.  Leaving Scott on his bed, Stiles went back out to the living room,where  Allison and his Dad were standing up, clearly worried, when he did.  “Sit, sit.” Stiles urged them and they returned to the sofa, sending concerned looks his way.  “OK.  So... there’s a thing... “ He explained in as sparse an amount of detail as he could; Allison would know what had happened, obviously, but he tried not to tell his Dad too much – he didn’t want to share Scott’s private life, even with someone who loved him like a son.

When he finished they all sat in silence while they waited for Scott to appear. His dad was frowning, clearly trying to work out the parts which had been missing whereas Allison just looked torn and sad.  Stiles himself felt like he was going to be sick.  No matter what Scott said, Stiles knew it was his fault.  Though he also knew that if he came out, the paper would likely still print the picture of Scott and Isaac anyway, especially if they had a ‘source’.

When Scott emerged he was as white as Stiles had ever seen him.  “It wasn’t him.” He mumbled as he collapsed on the soda next to Stiles.  “He sounded...” Scott scrubbed his hand over his face. “He sounded really upset.”

“That you thought it was him?” Stiles asked and Scott nodded.

“That and that someone has sold a photo of him and lied.” He cut off suddenly, not wanting to elaborate in front of Tom. 

“Well, we’ll talk to Marin about everything tomorrow, you always hear about gagging orders and all sorts, she’ll work it out.” Stiles offered and Allison nodded, speaking up.

“Yeah.  Look, there’s nothing you can do tonight... let’s just go to bed, try and sleep and we’ll see where we are tomorrow.” She stood and extended Scott her hand.  He looked at it for a few seconds before accepting her offer and allowing himself to be led back to his bedroom.  As the door clicked shut behind them Stiles let out a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Are you OK, son?” Tom asked, deep, fatherly voice full of concern.

“Yeah.” Stiles tried giving his dad a smile. “I just feel bad for Scott.  If it wasn’t for me... none of this would be happening...”

“You don’t know that Stiles.  It may have done...” Tom offered but Stiles just shrugged. 

“Come on, I’m going to get ready for bed.” He ignored his father’s attempts to drag him back into conversation.  Eventually, his dad got the message and settled for a hug and a heartfelt ‘I love you’ before he disappeared into Stiles’ room for the night.  Left alone, Stiles stared straight up, watching the shadows dance across the ceiling, sleep far from likely.

 

*             *             *

 

The following morning, Scott emerged from his room to find Stiles pottering around the kitchen, quietly putting together a healthy breakfast.  Slumping into one of the stools on the breakfast bar, Scott listlessly started pecking at the chopped up fruit.

“You sleep?” Stiles asked and his friend shook his head.

“Not really.  You?”

“Not really.” Stiles admitted.  “You heard from Isaac?”

Scott nodded.  “Yeah, we’ve been texting...” Stiles bit back a reminder that Marin had warned him about messages and just nodded.

“Is he OK?”

“No. Not really.  He’s properly freaking out.  He’s actually really private and he’s scared of what will happen if he appears in the paper...”

“Right, yeah...”  Before he could respond his phone beeped with a text message.  Checking it quickly, he gulped when he read it then showed it to Scott.

 

Danny, 7:53am  
Hi, I spoke to Tucker’s roommate,  
apparently he’s in London... he checked  
Tuck’s computer and, yeah, it was him.  
Don’t know what he’s got from it, but   
I’ve got the email exchange. I’ll send it  
on to you.

 

“Oh.  Well... there’s that.” Stiles said.

“I knew that Isaac hadn’t done it.” Scott grumbled, shaking his head.

“Yeah... I’ll email what Danny sends me to Marin.”

“OK.” Scott said, voice dull and hollow.

Stiles poured his friend a fruit juice and leant back against the counter, watching his friend carefully.  “What do you want to do?”

Scott sighed and shook his head.  “I don’t know... I’m worried about Isaac, I’m worried about Allison...” he paused and glanced at Stiles. “I’m worried about you.”

“Me...? Why?”

“I know what you are thinking.  That if you came out, it’d stop the story about me.”

“Well...” Stiles hedged.

“It wouldn’t though.  And I’m not going to ask you to do that, for me.”

“I will.” Stiles said, really quietly, but he meant it. If Scott asked him to, he’d come out.

“I’m not going to ask you to do that Stiles.  I know what you went through before you told me and your Dad, and I know that you don’t want to risk your career.  I’m not going to push you to do something you don’t want to.  Look, Marin might stop it coming out but if she doesn’t ... I’ll live.” He shrugged and stretched.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah.  I can cope with some idiots shouting at me.” Stiles winced, knowing that it felt like more than that. Scott continued, ignoring the grimace.  “Allison didn’t push me in the end.  We’re not getting back together though... I still need more time to think everything through.”

“Maybe you should get back together,” Stiles said, suddenly warming up to the idea, “Yeah... you could easily get a paper to do a story online today! Put it out before this photo gets out, we could-“

“Stiles.  I’m not lying.” He said with a finality that crashed that train of thought before it even left the station.  “I’m not with Alli, I won’t say I am just because it would be easier...” Stiles raised his hands in surrender.  “I’m gonna get ready.” Scott said and walked away and Stiles stared uselessly after him.

Getting ready involved Stiles grabbing a quick shower and changed into his Manchester track suit.  His Dad was still snoring when they were ready to go so he left a short note explaining that they’d left and they’d be back for dinner that evening.

While waiting for Scott, Stiles quickly forwarded the email Danny had sent to Marin and replied to his text with a thank you.  Their handler responded almost immediately asking if he’d seen The Sun that morning.  Groaning, Stiles pulled up a new tab and grudgingly typed in the name of the newspaper threatening to publish lies about his best friend.  While it wasn’t the main story, it was on the front of the website; a feature:

**_Manchester lads setting the story ... straight?!_ **

What followed was a story about how Jackson Whittemore and Scott McCall had both gone out on dates in Manchester the night before.  Stiles clicked on the photos and marvelled at how the photographer had staged them so that it looked like they’d been in two separate locations.  The journalist, such as he was, speculated about Jackson dating a board member and Scott running back to Allison.  Then he ended with what would be, to everyone else, an odd comment about how Scott didn’t look too happy and maybe he had something to hide.  Cursing, Stiles knew that the paper had delayed the story about Isaac so they could set it up with a story alluding to Allison and Scott being back together.  He had no doubt that they’d be pushing the story all day and be promoting comments which questioned Scott’s motive for ‘dating’ Allison again.

Stiles, himself, wasn’t mentioned at all.

His friend only came out of his room when the car appeared, so Stiles showed him the story on the drive over.  After reading it, Scott had just shook his head and cursed once before looking out of the window.  Stiles continued looking at his phone, checking through the twitter hashtags once more, but it was still too early for the story to get any real traction.

They got to Old Trafford around the same time as a few of their teammates and were met by calls and greetings but made their way straight towards Marin’s office.  It was beautifully appointed, as were all of the rooms at their home stadium, but something about her office made Stiles feel like a naughty schoolboy. He always had to force himself to remember that Marin Morrell was on their side, especially when she looked at them in the weighing, disappointed manner she did when they arrived.

What followed was a truly frustrating meeting, especially as she was vocal in not understanding why Stiles was even there.  Both boys had blinked in surprise at that; they supported each other, it wasn’t even an unwritten rule, it didn’t have to be written, it was just how it was. 

They answered as many questions as they could, Scott and Stiles both insisting that Isaac would have had nothing to do with the story, but both keeping back as much as they could from their handler. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust her, it was just that neither particularly wanted her trying to control another aspect of their life.  Stiles was just grateful that Danny’s name wasn’t brought up beyond confirming that he knew about the picture and wouldn’t be talking to reporters. 

In the end Marin agreed to do her best to keep the story from printing, though warned it was unlikely she’d succeed, especially as the newspaper had set it up with the story about Scott and Jackson’s ‘dates.’  They worked out, together, a denial that Scott was dating Isaac, but acknowledging that they were friends – something they couldn’t logically deny – though neither Marin or Scott were pleased with it.  Marin feeling it wasn’t strong enough a denial, Scott feeling it wasn’t strong enough of a criticism of the paper. 

The real sticking point came when Scott asked what Manchester United could do to protect Isaac. Marin had been clear that there wasn’t anything they could do beyond the statement.  She’d tried to explain that, as he and Isaac _weren’t_ a couple, she had no influence and he was free to do as he pleased.  The implication being, quite strongly, that if Scott admitted they _were_ dating, she could support and protect him.  Scott had just glared and stayed silent. 

Stiles had interjected when he could, soothing tempers before they could flare and translating each of Scott’s and Marin’s frustrations into ways the other could appreciate, by the end of the meeting he felt as exhausted as the other two looked. 

“We’ll keep you informed today but we’ll know by around eight o’clock tonight whether they’ll be publishing and it’ll probably hit the web shortly after that.  If it does break, I’d like you to consider staying here tonight, Scott.  You too Stiles, your home will be inundated with press.”  She was matter of fact about the upheaval.

“We have family up.” Stiles said, unapologetically.

“I know. But, think about it.  I’m sure Miss Argent will understand.” It was clear she was trying to sound caring but it just came out as patronising.  Nevertheless, Scott mumbled he’d think about it and they headed down to training.  Stiles resolved to support his friend in whatever he needed; after all Scott had done it for him often enough and, in a way, still was.

 

*             *             *

 

As it turned out, The Sun posted the story online at ten o’clock that night.

Marin had explained they’d not wanted any other newspaper to have time to reprint the story in their final editions.  It also meant that by the time they all got up on the Saturday morning, it was all anyone, anywhere was talking about. 

Scott had chosen not to stay at Old Trafford, so he, Stiles, Allison and Tom had been able to watch the multiple cameras and reporters setting up outside their building.  At some point police had appeared to corral the media circus, though neither of the boys in the flat had made the call. Derek, Louis and Marin had all phoned Scott and, with his agreement, Manchester United released the agreed statement as soon as the story broke.

Scott had also spoken to his mother, warning her what was about to happen.  She’d been surprised at the story, but accepted what Scott told her, agreeing to go to a friend’s for the weekend lest the media try to contact her.

The denial quickly changed the tone of the story.  Initially, it was seen as a possible prelude to Scott coming out as gay.  After it was clear that wasn’t the case, the mainstream media started reporting on the media circus – something they were all participating in – and falling back onto the ‘gays in the Premiership’ story with a few picking up the journalistic integrity angle. 

Overnight, nothing seemed to change on television or on newspapers but, as ever, the Twittershpere had exploded into activity.  Isaac’s online presence was ripped apart.  He’d, smartly, deleted as much of his social media as he could – Danny had helped and apparently done a very good job. Unfortunately, friends of friends could still find images he was tagged in and they did.  Within hours, a photo of him shirtless in a club had been shared all over the internet and he’d started trending on Twitter.

Danny had called Stiles just after midnight to let him know that he was doing his best, but Isaac was faring pretty badly.  Apparently, he’d been glued to the television since the story broke, but had only really been affected when it had moved online.  A lot of the comments were making him out to be some kind of sex-crazed slut, whereas, shirtless picture aside, he’d not really dated that many people.  Being dissected online as the boy who could possibly bring down a Premiership footballer had done a number on him, but it was nothing compared to what happened on one of the morning shows.

“Guys!” Allison shouted them all over and turned the volume up on the TV.  She’d been surfing through the news stations and had stopped on one showing a typical and simple residential street; one that wouldn’t be out of place anywhere in the country.  At the front of the shot was a reporter, holding a large microphone and smiling sweetly to the nation.

“Thank you, yes.  We have with us here Roger Lahey, father of Isaac Lahey who has been all over the news this morning, linked with up and coming football star, Scott McCall.” The reporter turned and the camera zoomed out showing a tall, broad shouldered man.  His face was weathered and lined and, behind rimless glasses, his eyes were tight and hard.  Stiles and Scott both leaned forward, seeing pieces of their friend in the man on the screen.  “Mr Lahey, have you heard from your son today?”

“No.” His voice matched his face; hard and unflinching.  “We’re not close.”

“I see.” The reporter tried to keep the glee out of her voice, clearly either sensing or knowing a story lurking.  “Why is that, may I ask?”

“He was a good kid, always tried his best in school, came with me and his mother to church, but then fell into with a bad crowd, got caught up with them and their ways.  He made some bad choices.” He sneered and Stiles stiffened knowing exactly what he was meaning.  “He turned his back on everything decent and took off with a _boy_ , into the city, and now all I get is an occasional phone call.”

“So, were you surprised to hear your son’s name in the news today?”

“I was, I just hope he hasn’t done anything to bring more shame to himself or his family.”

“Do you have a message for your son, Mr Lahey?”

Isaac’s dad turned to look straight down the camera. “Yes.  Isaac... son.  There’s still time to turn back from this path you’re on.  Come home to us and we’ll see you get help.” He nodded once and the camera turned a little and refocused onto the reporter. 

“Well, there you go.  We’re still trying to reach Isaac Lahey for a comment, but there’s a little more background to this fascinating story, back to you in the studio.”

“What a bastard.” Stiles’ dad said with a vehemence that was rare for him.

“I need to call Isaac.” Scott said and he and Allison disappeared into his bedroom to make the call. 

“You know I love you and am proud of you right?” Tom said to Stiles, who rolled his eyes.  Ever since Stiles had come out, his dad had made sure he knew he was supported.

“Yes, Pops, I know.” He did his very best not to roll his eyes.

“I don’t get men like that...” He added gesturing to the television.  “Did you know his father was like that?”

“No, not really.  Scott knows Isaac better than me, I knew they weren’t close, but not that there was that level of animosity...” He went to get his phone and texted Danny asking if he’d seen the report, leaving his father to fume at the continuing coverage.  Danny called after less than a minute.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Stiles said, hating how sad Danny sounded.  “How’s Isaac?”

“Bad. He’s in his room, talking to Scott I think?” Stiles made a noise in the affirmative and the other boy continued. “I think this is what he feared most.  Having his Dad make an appearance? The guy was, is, a complete bastard.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked.  “You don’t have to tell me.” He added quickly.

“It’s OK, I know I can tell you a little...  His dad used to beat him, especially after he found out Isaac was bi.  Stiles, he was really violent.  Eventually, Mum and Dad took him in with us and we kind of unofficially adopted him.  After that, I know they’ve had a little contact but not much.  I think my dad tried to reach out to him a while ago, but was shut down.”  Stiles nodded, he’d put together a lot of that story himself from hints and things Scott had told him, but it was good to know that Isaac wasn’t dependent on his father at all.  “I think I might have to go, there’s camera crews arriving.” He sounded distracted, no doubt looking out of the window at whichever media was turning up.

“Get out.” Stiles said instantly.  “Get out and go somewhere, anywhere away from the cameras or you’ll be trapped in your flat all weekend, at least.”

“What?! Stiles, I can’t just leave him...”

“No, both of you, go to your parents.  Or somewhere. Just, don’t let him be trapped.” Stiles suggested.  He knew how he’d felt at Old Trafford, how claustrophobic it had felt.  He’d had work and friends and training to distract himself but he doubted Isaac would enjoy it anymore then he had.

“I’ll ask him what he wants to do...” Danny said and Stiles once again encouraged him to go.  He agreed to stay in contact but that hed’ phone again that evening, after the match and let his boyfriend go.  Heading back to his father, Stiles explained what was going on with Danny and Isaac.

“It’s smart, going to Danny’s parents? I mean, they’ll likely find him there too if he’d been living there, but as a first move, yeah.  What about after? Where’ll he go?” 

“What do you mean, after?” Stiles asked,

“Son, this story isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.   Has he friends he can stay with?”

“Caitlyn and Emily, maybe?” Stiles asked, frowning.  He honestly didn’t know.  Isaac had always seemed to be Danny’s shadow.  It was Stiles’ boyfriend who was one who’d seemed to know everyone, Isaac was more just part of the group.  He certainly hoped someone could take him in while he was hiding from the press, if that’s what he wanted to do.

“I’d suggest you or Scott get him a hotel room, but... imagine how that would look...” His dad seemed to be thinking out loud, something he did when he was zeroing in to a solution to a problem.

Before he could say anything else though, Scott and Allison reappeared from phoning Isaac, both looking tired and like they’d been crying.  “I’ve spoken to Isaac, he and Danny are going to Danny’s parent’s house. Your idea?” He looked to Stiles, who nodded. “He’s so messed up... I feel so guilty.” He admitted and Allison slipped her hand into his, giving it a squeeze. “This is insane...” He walked to the window and stared down at the reporters.  “We have to go out in that?”

“Yeah... Marin will send a car, but... yeah...” Stile said, walking to his friend’s shoulder.

“I should have stayed at Old Trafford.” He admitted but Stiles shrugged, knowing that Scott had wanted to be at home, wanted his family around him when the story broke. 

“Maybe.  But, we’re here now... it’ll just be heads down and into the car.”  They both watched the reporters below, sometimes on the television, sometimes through the window though there was no more from Roger Lahey. 

Before long, Marin called letting them know the car was on its way.  Sighing, wishing that this wasn’t the way he was leaving his Dad, Stiles gathered his things and went to hug his father goodbye.  “You’ve got your game tickets?” He asked.

“Yep. Right here, I’ll shout extra loud for you.” He smiled and Stiles chuckled despite the situation.

Scott said his goodbyes to Allison and they separated.  Allison and Tom were used to watching Scott and Stiles at football games and, over the last couple of years, had become pretty friendly, so nobody felt weird leaving them to spend the day together.  Originally they’d planned to go explore some of Manchester but Stiles knew they’d be in and watching TV until the match that afternoon.

Stiles went down first and spoke to the police officer at the front of their building.  Even though there was no way he could be seen, Stiles could hear and see the flashes of photographers cameras going as he explained they’d be heading out.  The officer was professional and did his best to ensure they had a clear walk from door to car.  It was only a few steps, but with that many reporters and cameras it seemed a lot further.

Scott pulled the hood of his top up, shouldered his bag and nodded to Stiles who led them out to the waiting car.  Stepping through the door felt like walking into a solid wall of light and sound. Scott’s name was being yelled from all sides and Stiles almost stumbled as the bright lights slammed into him.  Luckily though, they made it through with minimal fuss though their appearance ensured every station had another opportunity to go through the story once more.

Arriving at Old Trafford was a similar experience, though the photographers and reporters were all kept at the gates meaning it was only the car that had to run the gauntlet, not them.  They were met from the car by Marin and Derek who greeted them both as warmly as they could.  “Are you doing OK?” Their skipper asked, no doubt knowing the answer, but asking anyway.

“Not really... I must have missed the meeting on what to do if the world decides you’re in a homosexual affair with one of your best friends and a gazillion cameras take up residence outside your flat.” Scott clearly tried to sound light and breezy but it fell a million miles short.

“Yeah... I missed that one too then.” Derek said, flinging his arm around Scott’s shoulder as they walked into the building.  As soon as they got through the doors, everyone turned to look at them.  Scott looked like he was trying not to huddle into his captain, while Derek was glaring everyone down.  Stiles shuffled in behind them, mostly ignored by all. “Right guys.  We all know what’s happened, and we all know that we are still a team and our job today is to beat Liverpool... so... we’re all going to go and prep, train and then win.  Got it?!” He asked and was met with nods, though everyone still eyed Scott sideways.

Stiles shook his head and stayed by his friend’s side, doing his best to stare down the people still looking at Scott like they’d not seen him before.  van Persie stepped up and waved Scott over to the rest of the strikers, Hale letting him go but watching him as he, himself,  joined the midfielders, Stiles trailing along behind him.  It seemed that Derek and Louis had already spoken to the team and told them, once again, not to bring up any of the rumours flying around.

As the pre-game preparations continued and everything went back to football, Stiles dared to hope that the story outside the stadium, maybe, just maybe wouldn’t mean anything once the game started. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it - comments are gold! ;-D
> 
> Thanks for reading. Next update - Sunday!


	17. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Manchester United vs Liverpool

 

 

Stiles hope of the Isaac/Scott story not impacting the game faded the moment the teams were announced. Both he and Stiles were subs, so their names were called last; when ’McCall’ came through the tannoy, there was a section Liverpool fans who exploded in jeers and insults.  Scott tried not to react too strongly, knowing that he’d be on camera somewhere.  They both kept their faces up and forward, refusing to bow even an inch, and took their seats behind the Man U dugout.

Manchester United versus Liverpool was always a huge match.  It was seen as a meeting of giants and a game that each side was desperate to win.  From the first whistle the game was gruelling in its intensity.  It went end to end several times with both keepers having to make early, dynamic saves.  Derek’s yells of encouragement were audible to even the subs on the bench and Stiles was as nervous as any Manchester fan.  They needed a win, then needed to maintain the high level of football they started with, especially with all the rubbish in the newspapers. 

Fourteen minutes into the match, the first disaster struck.  Raheem Sterling brilliantly controlled a long, looping pass into the box and span past Matt Daehler who didn’t just stick his foot out to trip the Liverpool forward, but managed to send him head over heels too.  The referee immediately blew his whistle and pointed to the penalty spot, despite Daehler’s protestation of innocence.  His declarations were in vain however as the yellow card came out and he was booked.  Hale was quickly at the defender’s side, one hand around the back of the younger man’s neck and dragging him away.  Stiles watched as the captain spoke through gritted teeth, no doubt tearing a strip off the young player; they needed every player on the pitch and another yellow card would see Daehler sent off.

Liverpool captain Steven Gerrard swaggered up to take the penalty.  This was a man in his element; he was about to take a penalty, against the team he wanted so desperately to beat and he _knew_ he’d score. Stiles could see it from where he sat, slumped low, trying not to watch what he knew would be a goal.  While de Gea, the fantastic Manchester keeper, dove the right way, Gerrard’s shot bulleted into the back of the net and the away fans erupted into cheers.

It was the exact opposite of the start they’d been hoping for.  Going one nil up meant that all the Liverpool fans in Old Trafford were on song and vocal in supporting their team.  Despite being in the minority at the Manchester ground, the Man U fans had been silenced by Daehler’s reckless tackle and booking and Gerrard’s subsequent goal.

Stiles and Scott shared a few glances over the course of the first half and a couple of sighs of relief.  de Gea had to make several saves and both had thought that when Herrera brought Sterling down again in the box Liverpool would get another penalty – fortunately the referee had just indicated they play on.  Despite not being able to capitalise on the numerous chances they had, the Liverpool fans just kept on singing.  The one which seemed to rile the longer serving members of Man U was the chant to the Sloop John B tune:

 _“We won it five times,_  
we won it five times,  
in Istanbul we won it five times.”

Liverpool FC had won the European Champion’s League Cup five times; more times than any other English team – specifically more times than Manchester United. Some of the Red Devil’s fans responded with their own chant about winning the league more times than Liverpool but were drowned out by the away support as the majority of Old Trafford didn’t join in.

Just before the end of the half Rooney and van Persie both had a couple of chances but neither was particularly threatening.  It simply seemed that Liverpool had the game in the bag. Stiles and Scott were both quiet as they followed the rest of the team down the tunnel and into the dressing room. 

In the brief few years that Stiles had been playing he’d still managed to be fairly good at reading the atmosphere of a team who were losing at half time.  Sometimes they were angry and desperate to get back out and fight, sometimes they were already defeated, heads down and just wanting it all to end.  Sometimes though, they were almost confused; it was like they couldn’t figure out why they were behind.  That was what he walked into, unobtrusively as possible, a veritable fug of uncertainty. 

It made some sense.  They were playing a team of international level players, players who were all relatively well rested and should have been at the top of their game.  However, something just wasn’t clicking.  Hale obviously sensed the mood too and rather than shout and yell as he had in the friendly against AS Roma he pulled everyone in and began dissecting the first half. 

His insight was almost clinical.  He spared no one, not least of all himself.  The defence’s weaknesses were laid bare, not least because of Daehler’s insane tackle.  The midfield was lambasted for failing to support both the defence and forwards, while the strikers were criticised for not reading the game carefully enough.  Stiles watched as Hale’s quiet criticism settled into the team and it seemed each player steeled themselves to do better.  Nothing Derek said was wrong; there was nothing for anyone to argue against, they all just had to do better.  The rest of the break was spent in near silence as players received treatment from physios or whispered support from coaches.

Hale and van Gaal spent a few minutes whispering together before Derek headed over to Scott and Stiles.  “How you baring up?” He asked Scott who shrugged.

“OK. I’d be better if we were ones who were one up...” 

Derek did a weird grimace, smile thing but nodded. “Will you be able to play if we need you?” He asked, genuinely asking.  He needed to know that if he subbed Scott on the younger man would be able to make the difference they needed but, to Stiles’ eyes anyway, there was no judgement.  If Scott said no, he knew that Derek would accept that and put on someone else.

Scott being Scott though didn’t refuse. “I can play.”

“You’re 100%?” Derek asked, raising one eyebrow.

This time Scott hesitated.  “Maybe not a hundred... I’ve not slept great last couple of nights but, I can play... I can score.” He clarified.

“You too?” Hale asked Stiles, barely looking at him, once more he was almost an afterthought.

“Yeah.” He said, though he wasn’t relishing the pressure they’d be under if they came on and Manchester United were still down.

“OK.  Well, we’ll see how the half goes, but good to know.” Their captain headed back over to the manager nodding and Stiles caught the look of respect that van Gaal shot them before huddling back into the management team working out second half strategy.

Before heading back out, Derek called them all back in and explained that they were changing formation a little, playing a more aggressive style.  He argued that, penalty aside, Liverpool weren’t finishing well so they could afford to play further into their own half more, play more aggressively.  He wanted the team to get the ball up and out of their half as soon as they could, as often as they could.  Detailing Herrera into a more central role, he explained that the first few minutes would be key.  Obvioulsy, Liverpool would come out looking to extend their lead, so Man U would have to take the hits and hit back harder.

Firing up the team with a few more motivational boosters, Hale led them back onto the pitch. As he returned to the substitute seats, Stiles’ stomach was in knots.  He was hopeful that they’d be able score, to maybe go into the lead but was also nervous about playing in the incredibly charged match.  The feeling was doubled as a small, but loud, group of Liverpool fans started singing:

 _“Bring your gayboy on,_  
Bring your gayboy on,  
Bring your gayboy on,  
or is his arse too sore.”

Stiles felt his jaw drop at the vulgarity of the chant and looked around for van Gaal who was already stalking over to an official who was nodding and already speaking into a walkie-talkie. Seconds later a voice came over the tannoy reminding all fans that neither team would tolerate abusive language at all.  The security guards all started positioning themselves on the stairs, better able to watch for trouble but, other than grumbles, the away support seemed to settle down.

The beginning of the second half was some of the most quick, vicious and vibrant minutes of football Stiles had ever watched.  Hale and Herrera were everywhere and the Man U defence were clearing into the Liverpool half as soon as they were getting the ball.  Ennis, the American Liverpool forward was screaming at his midfield who had been caught unawares by the changed and charged Man U players.  Both teams seemed to sense that whichever of them scored the first goal of the half would dominate.

That goal came ten minutes in. 

Hale managed to take the ball from Ennis who had bullied it from Herrera only seconds before.  Instead of passing it straight through, Derek sprinted for the wing and managed to make it well into the Liverpool half.  Glancing up for only a fraction of second, Derek crossed the ball high over the heads of the Liverpool defence who’d all drifted to his side of the pitch.  In a move which reminded everyone why he was such a dangerous player, Wayne Rooney bolted through a tiny gap and side-footed home a seemingly effortless goal.

Stiles and Scott jumped up and cheered, applauding a fantastic shot; as easy as it had looked, both knew that a volley like that took incredible skill.   They were both still whispering to each other, Scott excitedly comparing the goal to some other Rooney greats, so nearly missed the second Man U goal.  Juan Mata took the ball from one end of the pitch to the other in one of those once in a lifetime runs which ended with a rocketing shot which took a lucky rebound off Mamadou Sakho to sneak past the Liverpool keeper. 

This time, as Stiles jumped out of his seat, it was with a laugh as well as a cheer.  Juan Mata was someone he’d spent very little time with and, while he objectively knew the Spanish midfielder was a world class player, seeing it the flesh was very different.  Suddenly, within the space of two minutes, Manchester were winning and the home support were louder than the silenced away fans. 

While they couldn’t exactly sit back and relax, suddenly both Stiles and Scott were much more relaxed and happy.  They watched as Manchester United relaxed into their attacking style and Liverpool seemed to crumble beneath it.  After seventy minutes, Brendon Rodgers, the Liverpool manager used all three of his subs at once and, for a short time it looked like they might rally around the fresh blood.

Sadly for them, however, Manchester United had a depth of talent most squads didn’t.  While defending against Rooney, van Persie, Mata, Hale and Herrera it was impossible to fully defend against the likes of Jesse Lingard.  Which was why, when he had the ball 18 yards out, he had just a couple of seconds of extra time to build up a masterful shot and suddenly it was 3-1.

As soon as the team celebrations were over, van Gaal nodded to Ryan Giggs, the deputy manager, who turned and headed away from the sidelines and over to Scott and Stiles.  “Guys, Louis wants to make a couple of substitutions, resting Robin definitely, you want in?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Scott said and Stiles nodded.  He’d play, of course, but there was no way he was letting his best friend out on the pitch alone, not with what was in the press and what had been yelled from the stands.

“Look.” Ryan looked around a little, “Not for nothing... this crowd are going to be pretty angry and you’re going to get abuse.  You don’t have to, there’s other players we can put on...”

“I’ll be fine, honestly.” Scott said, sincerely.  Giggs looked at him for a long moment then nodded once.

“Get warmed up.” With that, he returned to the manager and Scott and Stiles jumped up and zipped off their jackets, heading to the sidelines to stretch and warm up.  They were soon joined by Rafael de Silva, a defender and before long they were being subbed on.  As soon as their boots touched the pitch the noise level around the stadium went up.  The Manchester fans cheered them on, whistling and applauding longer and louder than usual, no doubt trying to drown out the jeers and boos of the Liverpoolers.

“Ignore them, son.” van Gaal said to Scott before the younger man dashed on to the pitch. “You go out there and play.  Proud of you.” Stiles overheard it but didn’t say anything, just ran on to where Herrera had left from, keeping an eye on his best friend as he ran to replace van Persie, who shook Scott’s hand as he went past. 

Stiles attention snapped back to his captain who grabbed his shoulders and spoke loudly over the baying of the crowd in his ear. “Run everywhere, you’re unpredictable. Use it.” And then he was gone, back to the centre of the pitch, his presence undeniable.

Stiles instantly dashed across the pitch, onto the wing, somewhere he rarely inhabited. A couple of the Liverpool players pointed his way and shouted to colleagues, one of whom, Jon Flanagan, came out of position to mark him.  Stiles didn’t even bother to hide his smile.  Flanagan was a fullback who’d been run ragged during the match, though, even on his best day, he wasn’t as fast as Stiles. 

As soon as the defender got close to him, Stiles bolted back into the centre, then back into his own half, followed by back up the wing. He kept an eye on where the ball was, of course, but Hale was directing it away from him and into the gaps having a Liverpool fullback marking him was causing.  Despite this, there were still times when Stiles was the only reasonable person to pass to, or he was close enough to tackle a Liverpool player.  When he did have the ball he always tried to pass it over to Scott, or cross it in if he could; he was desperate for his friend to get another goal – anything for the papers to focus on other than Isaac.

As one such cross left his foot he knew it would land perfectly for his friend, it was just something he knew, their connection was that strong.  However, when Scott took it on his right foot his touch was heavier than usual and the added bounce meant his strike lacked its usual focus.  Instead of blasting past the keeper, the shot sailed over the net only to be followed by a mocking cheer by the Liverpool fans. 

Though he was quite far from Scott, Stiles still heard his friend let out a frustrated curse as he watched his shot come to nothing.  The anger he directed at himself only seemed to spur the away fans on and another chant started up; while it was by no means the entire crowd, the ones who were singing made sure it was loud enough to be heard on the pitch and most of the players heads turned to that section of the stand.

_“He’s gay, he’s bent, his arse is up for rent, he’s Scott McCall, he’s Scott McCall.”_

Over and over it was sung and, despite Scott turning away and jogging back into position, other players weren’t about to let it go.  Derek Hale was blustering beside the referee who was walking over to the fourth official at the touch line as Steven Gerrard, the Liverpool captain, was also try to talk to the referee as well, while being glared at by Hale.

Stiles just watched his friend and glared up at the stands, not caring if cameras caught his look.  “Nice fans you’ve got.” He said to Flanagan who was panting at his side, using the impromptu break to catch his breath.

“Whatever, yours have done worse.” He rasped and Stiles shook his head.  While all fans sang, chanted and shouted at away teams, it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t hatred.  It wasn’t vile and offensive.  Stiles shrugged mentally, well, maybe some of it was, but it had never been aimed at Scott.

He turned his attention back to the stands where, thankfully the security guards were moving in and had started both settling the fans and removing the instigators.  Stiles nodded in approval though stopped when he saw Ennis stride off the pitch and up to a security person at the end of the stands.  While Stiles couldn’t hear what was being said, it was clear that the American forward was complaining about the fans being taken out of the stands.

Stiles frowned. He was sure that Ennis would have heard what was being chanted and, while he could appreciate loyalty to the fans, wouldn’t have thought that would extend to bigoted idiots.  Before he could think about it, he strode over to the stocky forward and started hearing what he was saying.

“Listen you, where I’m from we have freedom of speech.  These guys haven’t done anything wrong! Oh sure, it was rude, but come on! You can’t haul people off, they’ve paid money you know!?”

“Hey!” Stiles yelled, “Is there a problem?” As Ennis turned to him, glaring wildly and Stiles suddenly regretted his rash decision to challenge the hulking forward.  “Errrr... woah, big.  Errrr, just... what’s going on?”

“These idiots are kicking out my fans for nothing.”

Suddenly, Ennis’ size was forgotten and Stiles saw red, “Nothing?! _Nothing!?”_  He snapped and stepped forward, shoving the bigger, older man who took a couple of steps back before charging back and pushing the younger man in the chest, or at least went to.  Stiles was used to being the smaller guy in any type of fight and swayed away, letting Ennis fall past him and if he happened to stick his foot out and trip the guy, well so be it.

Suddenly, there was someone behind him and he felt strong arms pull him back and away from the Liverpool player.  Still angry, he struggled a little then relaxed as he realised he wasn’t getting away from whoever had him and that Rickie Lambert was dragging Ennis away.  “I’m fine.” He said, then repeated it a couple more times until the hands on his chest let go and he shrugged himself free. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK man, you good?” Darren Fletcher said, looking him in the eyes. Stiles nodded and held up a hand to Scott who was walking his way, stopping his friend where he was.  As the flash of rage started to wash away, Stiles felt a flush of embarrassment replace it; it wasn’t like him to lose his temper and certainly not so publicly.  He groaned as he saw the linesman in conversation with the referee before he gave Ennis a yellow card and then headed over to Stiles.

“You pushed a Liverpool player?” It wasn’t really a question, the referee knew he had, but Stiles nodded anyway.  “Unacceptable conduct, keep out of trouble, turn around so I can see your number.” Stiles span obediently, then turned back to see the ref hold up his yellow card again.  His embarrassment seemed to deepen; he hated getting booked, hated how it reflected on him as a player.  Nevertheless, thinking back, he didn’t think he’d do anything differently.

The game started again and Stiles continued his frenzied running, though kept away from Ennis, whose glower could be seen from any part of the pitch.  Despite the yellow cards injecting even more passion into the match, there were no further chances and the final whistle blew without Scott having another chance at goal.

Stiles moved around the pitch, shaking hands though carefully avoided Ennis; there was no way he was going to shake hands with that particular American dunderhead.  On their way back to the tunnels, Derek appeared at this shoulder and jostled him lightly.  Keeping his head down, he spoke quietly:  “What were you thinking squaring off with Ennis, he’s twice your size!”

“Aw, cap.  You care.” Stiles kept his voice low too, but couldn’t help the humour out it.

“Of course I care Stilinski.” Hale snapped, sounding angrier than Stiles thought he had a right to.

“Alright, jeez.  I’m fine aren’t I, he’s the one that ended up on the ground, right?”

“That’s not the point. I just-“ Derek cut off with a glare and stalked off as Scott appeared at Stiles’ other side.  They nodded hello but stayed quiet as they walked off the pitch.  Knowing his best friend as he did, Stiles knew that Scott would be berating himself for not playing better despite actually playing quite well.  He hadn’t scored and that’s what he would be focused on.

“You OK?” He finally asked as they entered the changing room; Rooney was the one in front of the cameras that day. 

“Yeah, I’d just thought...” Scott shrugged but Stiles knew what he was thinking; that if he’d have scored it would have been a distraction from the story about Isaac.

“It probably wouldn’t have been though...” Stiles said, aiming for supportive and his friend shrugged.

“Well, we’ll never know.” Scott sighed.  The changing room was full of joy and laughter, 3-1 against Liverpool was a result worth celebrating.  Somehow though, neither Scott or Stiles could muster up the enthusiasm of the rest of their team.

Trying to put the best spin on it, Stiles tried to take pride in the way they’d got through the day and that surely the worst was over.  Surely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it.


	18. Response 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaction to the Man U vs Liverpool game.

# BBC Sport: Football

# Gossip column: Red on Red and Man U come out on top. 

# Is Louis van Gaal the saviour of Manchester United?  What next for Brendon Rodgers?

For a list of fixtures, check out the  **fixtures and results page** **.**

Are you ready for the season to begin properly – catch up with all your team news on the **teams page.**

## In the Papers:

 

Old guard clear the way for Manchester United! – **Sunday Times**

**Liverpool in crisis?** **.**  [ **Sunday Express**](http://www.express.co.uk/sport/football/494825/I-m-a-Mario-fan-Brendan-Rodgers-confirms-Liverpool-want-Balotelli)

What went wrong for the new blood at Manchester? **Sunday Mail**

 

McCall plays under torrent of abuse.  How will the Premiership adapt to players who are gay? **Guardian**

 

Limp playing by van Gaal’s ‘golden boy’... what could have been wrong?!” [ **Sun**](http://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/transfer-news/arsenal-vs-manchester-united-transfer-3954490)

 

The last friendlies are played and all the teams have had a testing time of the friendlies.  Arsenal and both Manchester Teams come through without a loss or a draw.  All three are likely contenders for the title – how are your team faring?  


_18:00 Chris Forest (for BBC Sport):_

Evening all! Well, I’m pretty excited for the season to begin.  Lots of new characters and faces and some explosive play out there.  I still think Manchester Uniter vs City has to be the most eagerly anticipated game.  My own team, the beleaguered Doncaster FC are… well… I wouldn’t say raring to go… but set? Willing…? I’m trying to be hopeful but… we’ll see.  What are your hopes for your team?

_18:02 Holly S_

I’m a City girl through and through and there’s no way uniteds old boys and young blood’ll take us!

_18:03 SophieB_

Chelsea – Europe, obviously, think we’ve a chance of the title though

_18:06 ToffeeBlue_

Everton! Mah toffees are set, man… going for top 6, Europe and a good run in the FA cup

_18:07 Chris Forest_

Well that’s definitely three teams we’ll be hearing more of! ToffeeBlue, you must have enjoyed United’s win over Liverpool?

_18:09 Jake S_

I’m Man U, but not holding my breath… yeah we won but there’s so much distraction right now… not good

_18:12 Redordead_

Good to see Rooney back on form – would of been better if they hadn’t put the bentshot up front – could of been 4 easy!

_18:12 LeoM_

Oh God, here we go again.

_18:14 Chris Forest_

Last warning Redordead! language like that will not be tolerated.

_18:15 Josh H_

I’m not really that bothered, I just thought it was sad that Liverpool fans seem to be stuck in the 1950s

_18:17 HarryB_

Not all Liverpool fans!

_18:18 Carol W_

Seriously?! #notallmen #yesallgayplayers get abuse.

_18:20 Jake S_

I don’t get it carol? it’s *not* all Liverpool fans?

_18:22 Chris Forest_

[starting to think I should just have a separate gay-player-debate forum] SO…! *Apart* from … rumours… any more football chat?

_18:24 Carol W_

Course you don’t

_18:25 LeoM_

OI! Carol W stop subjugating men! men are victims! Misandry! MISANDRY!

_18:27 NathanB_

I reckon McCall will settle down – wish he’d just come out and say it though.

_18:28 Redordead_

I think that McCall is overrated and that he won’t play well now that the papers are writing about his boyfriend.  Was that alright Chris?

_18:29 Carol W_

Lol @ Leo – I know right!

_18:30 Sophie R_

I’m supporting Man U this season.  One of those boys, and it might not be McCall, needs support.  You guys all thought it was Whittemore?

_18:33 JoeyB_

Fuck me I agree with Sophie R – Am I a liberal now!? I still think its whittemore… mccall so no way gay.

_18:36 Toffeeblue_

Doesn’t matter who’s gay, clearly it got to the poor wee lad – he played gash!

_18:36 ToffeeBlue_

Still totally support him if he is gay though… just realised that sounded a bit harsh

_18:37 Chris Forest_

[throws hands in the air] Fine… McCall – gay or not? Will it affect his game!?  HAPPY NOW!?

_18:38 LeoM_

YEAY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. 
> 
> I've started a new job which I LOVE but it means I'm doing more work... which is ... nice...?
> 
> Anyway, I'm a couple of normal chapters ahead again so they'll be up on Wednesday and Sunday and then we should be back on track.
> 
> Thanks for the comments... it's nice this is getting a bit of love. I actually really like it! ;-D


	19. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post match happenings... 
> 
> There's some BAMF-ery in this ;-)

Stiles was exhausted as he trudged up to the executive restaurant.  While he had only played for a short amount of time, it had been intense.  Objectively he knew that his body wasn’t as tired as he felt but everything still felt like more of a chore than it should have been.

He was happy, delighted, they beat Liverpool.  He’d never liked the team after the manner they’d rallied around Suarez when he made racist comments, let alone when he bit someone.  However, despite how much he wished otherwise, he knew the papers would have as much, if not more, stories speculating about Scott and Isaac than they did the game. 

His best friend was still in the dressing room, slowly getting changed, ignoring as much of the celebrations as possible.  While most of the Manchester United squad seemed they couldn’t care less about Scott’s private life there was still an air, an atmosphere, which hung around the young striker.  Stiles knew it was because his friend hadn’t addressed the rumours himself – if it were true and he’d admitted it, the team would no doubt support him.  But, Scott couldn’t do that.  He couldn’t deny it completely but couldn’t acknowledge it either.  Stiles shook his head for what felt like the fiftieth time that day.  _What a clusterfuck_.

Allison and his Dad were waiting for him at the bar, quietly engrossed in their own conversation.  Stiles collapsed in one of the plush seats next to them with a sigh.  “Scott won’t be long, he’s just finishing up.”  His Dad nodded but Allison frowned and looked towards the door.

“Is he OK?” She asked, concern clear in her voice.

“No. Not really.” Stiles admitted, grimacing. 

There was a leaden silence which Tom filled by clearing his throat pointedly: “Son… what were you thinking squaring off to Ennis like that? The guys a brute.”

Stiles groaned and did an elaborate shrug and shake of his head.  “I dunno Dad, he just made me so mad.  He was… I don’t even know.  I just saw red I guess.”

“Well you could have seen red.  When the ref reached into his pocket I thought you were off for sure.” His father’s face was pinched, less in anger and more in concern and Stiles felt a brief flash of shame.

“Sorry, Pops.” He said, and he meant it.  To his father, no matter how successful or grown up he got, Stiles knew he’d always be his dad’s little boy.

Before he could elaborate any further, the other young man Stiles knew his Dad thought of as a son walked into the room; Scott looked as tired as he ever had and barely made eye contact with any of them as he sat down.

Silence reigned for a few seconds before Stiles dad broke it: “It was a good game, son.” He said with heartfelt sincerity.

Scott sighed.   “Maybe.  But I wasn’t.  Especially with that cross.” He nodded at Stiles who shrugged; it really didn’t matter.  “I should have controlled it better, I was just...” He trailed off and shrugged, uncharacteristically quiet.  No one spoke for some time until Allison reached over and squeezed Scott’s knee.

“Are you OK?” She asked, uselessly.

Scott shrugged and looked away, clearly not wanting to talk.  “I spoke to Isaac earlier.” She said and her ex-boyfriend’s attention snapped back to her.

“How is he?” He asked, flicking a nervous look to Stiles’ Dad who was resolutely not frowning.

“Not great.  The press are outside Danny’s parents’ house.  Elijah isn’t too happy about it either, but he understands.  Isaac’s stressing about it though. He sounds in a bad way...”

“I just wish...” Scott’s fist clenched in frustration.  Stiles knew, and felt the same, as his friend.  That he wished that the paper hadn’t written their story, or that it wasn’t considered a story at all.

“What about other friends? Can he stay there?” Stiles Dad asked and Allison shook her head. 

“From what I understand, Caitlyn and Emily?” She phrased the pair of names as a question to Scott and Stiles who both nodded but stayed silent, wanting to hear what Allison had found out.  “Yeah, they are in a studio apartment and don’t even have a sofa.  Mason still lives at home and isn’t out so can’t and the person he’d normally crash with after a night out is Tucker and well…” Stiles had to resist the urge to growl when he heard the name of the guy who’d sold the story about Scott and Isaac to the papers.  He wasn’t a violent person by nature, but Tucker? He’d happy punch the guy in the face for an hour, take a break and then get right back to it.

“Right.  Well.  I’ve an idea.” Stiles’ dad said with a finality that meant that not only was the idea fully formed, it would brook no arguments.  “He can’t stay at his flat, or with Danny’s parents if he doesn’t feel safe.  He can’t stay with you guys, or in a hotel paid for by anyone associated with Man U, so… ask him if he wants to come down to London for a few days to settle things down.” He nodded decisively at Scott who frowned, blinking, clearly shocked.  Stiles wished he could say he was surprised by his dad’s offer, but he really wasn’t; it was exactly the kind of thing his Pops would think of.

“Are you sure?” Scott asked, eventually.

“Son.” Tom said with a fatherly smile, “I’m sure.  If he’s a friend of you two then he must be a pretty decent guy and no one deserves to be hounded like these jackals are hounding him.  No one’s going to think of staking out my house, but, if they do, I’m a cop.  I can move them along better than anyone else. This is, of course, if he wants to.”

“I’ll ask.” Allison said, pulling her phone out of her bag and walking towards the tall windows at the end of the room.

“Thanks, Dad.” Stiles said and his father shrugged. 

“It’s nothing.” He paused, looking at Scott.  “I’ll make sure he’s OK buddy, yeah?” He waited for Scott to nod before turning back to Stiles.  “And I’ll text you and keep you informed?” Another nod and then silence descended again while they waited for Allison to return.

When she did, she quickly relayed the conversation back to them.  At first Isaac had attempted to refuse, claiming he didn’t want to be a burden, or a fuss but Allison had quickly assured him that it was Tom’s idea and she’d played up the policeman angle and him wanting to protect someone being hounded.  She’d won him round and they’d agreed a place and time to meet.  Danny was going to drive him to a supermarket out of town a little and Allison and Tom would meet them there. 

Unless he was very much mistaken, Allison had a twinkle in her eye which suggested that she was enjoying all the cloak and dagger, spy in the night, handover stuff a little too much.  Tramping down on any annoyance her reaction was causing, he focused on the gratitude he felt towards his father that he would take in a guy he didn’t know just on the word of his son.  Thinking about it, he wondered if his dad was lonely.  They’d rarely been separated for more than a couple of days before and here Stiles was, in a whole different city, enjoying a life he’d never had back in London.

“I miss you.” He said quietly as Scott and Allison started their own conversation about how Isaac had sounded and how she would look out for him, discreetly, obviously. “You know that right?”

“Yeah, I know, son.” Tom scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head.  “I miss you too, truth be told.”  He reached over and squeezed his son’s shoulder.  “Proud of you though, bud.  When I saw you out on that pitch today…” He smiled and Stiles couldn’t help but smile back.  “You were amazing.”

Stiles just shrugged but accepted what his father said; _well, he’s my dad, he has to think that_.

Before long, Danny called letting them know that they’d be leaving in a few minutes and they’d be at the meeting point in just under an hour.

Hugs were exchanged and promises to keep in contact made but, before they knew it Allison and Tom were gone and Scott and Stiles were alone in the bar.  Just as they sat down Stiles’ phone beeped and he fished it out, frowning at the text.

 

Danny, 6:22pm,  
I’m about to do something which  
may or may not be very very  
stupid.  Dont fret, not gonna  
mention you at all.  Turn on a   
TV screen if you are near one.  
x x x

 

He went over to the screen on the wall and turned it on.  It came up on BBC News and Stiles fumbled with buttons until he found the volume to turn it up off mute.  Scott joined him and nudged his shoulder.  “What’s going on?” He asked curiously.

“Dunno, Danny just told me to turn on the TV…” Before the end of his sentence the TV anchor had put her hand to her ear and announced that they were going live to Manchester where there was some possible developments.  As Stiles tensed he felt Scott do the same next to him and they both were silent as another BBC reporter appeared, standing outside a nice, well-kept bungalow, clearly one of many reporters there.

“Thank you.  I’m here in Manchester outside the house where Isaac Lahey is staying.  We’ve received word that a statement of some kind is about to be made and…” His attention was drawn away as the front door opened and Danny walked out holding a piece of paper in his hands.  Stiles leant forward.  Danny looked tired, but determined.  He was in one of his work suits with his crisp white shirt open at his throat, tie no doubt long since discarded.

He paused at the end of his little pathway and surveyed the scene in front of him for a few seconds, taking in all the cameras and reporters.  Eventually he focused on the BBC camera and stared down the lens, talking directly to the people at home, directly to Scott and Stiles.

“My name is Danny Mahealani and I am a friend of Isaac Lahey who will not be coming out and speaking with you today.  In the last twenty four hours, my friend has been subjected to the most base forms of rumour mongering, character attacks and abusive comments.  He has been hounded from his home into mine and _you_ have followed him.” Stiles started to smile at how forceful and powerful his boyfriend sounded; his anger clear to anyone. “In a few minutes time, I’ll be driving my friend to a different friend’s house and he, and I, ask you not to follow him.  He is currently being ripped apart online by people who don’t know him, he doesn’t need to be forced from another place of safety.

“When we come out, _he will not be answering any questions._ He will not stop and speak to any of you.  He will not pose for pictures and he will not respond to anyone shouting anything.  My parents will be recording you as we come out and anyone who does yell, anyone who does shout questions will be the subject of a complaint to the Press Complaints Commission and the police. 

“All my life I, and my family, have had a great deal of respect for the British news companies.  That repsect has been sorely shaken today.  Please show some small compassion as we leave. That is all.” Danny then nodded once into the camera and turned on his heel back into the house.

The camera panned back to the reporter who seemed slightly at a loss of what to say.  “Well, there we have it, a statement from a friend of Isaac Lahey’s who clearly is suffering from the story that was revealed earlier today.  Impassioned words there from someone who clearly is …” He cut off again as the door responded and Elijah and a woman, who must have been Danny’s Mum, stepped out holding up cameras recording the news cameras recording them.

After a couple of seconds they were followed by Danny, who strode straight-backed out into the street, staring down reporters and cameras alike.  The sound of cameras snapping shots were clearly heard over the eerie silence as Isaac followed his friend down the path.  He was in a hoodie, tall, strong frame hunched over, the backpack on his back seeming almost larger than he was.  His hood was up though and neither Stiles, nor Scott, could make out his features.

The silence lasted until they got out onto the pavement and Danny pulled out his keys, heading towards the car; then a cameraman shouted: “Over here, Isaac.” Years of habit clearly over riding any rational thought.  Stiles made a disgusted noise as Scott ground his teeth angrily next to him.  On screen the BBC camera swept over to the bank of photographers, one of whom was shrugging and, no doubt thinking, in for a penny in for a pound, called for Isaac to look his way again.

As he did, several more photographers started calling though the reporters stayed quiet.  Within seconds, Isaac and Danny were in the car and away followed by the flashes of bulbs trying to get a picture.

Eventually though, the car was gone, leaving the street, despite its multitude of reporters, bereft and empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, just got this posted on a Wednesday! 
> 
> Next chapter Sunday... looks like my little break lost me a lot of clickers... sigh... poor little fic...
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!


	20. Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles hopes that with the media silence, the Scisaac story may have calmed down. How wrong he is.

Neither Scott nor Stiles spoke for a few seconds as the cameraman panned back from the car driving off and back to the reporter who, once again, seemed at a loss as who to best describe what had just happened.  Scott summed it up well though: “Your boyfriend is a total BAMF.”

Stiles blushed and ducked his head, still unused to the ‘boyfriend’ term and because he completely agreed, still… “It didn’t work though.”

“It kinda did and at least he tried, at least he could do something.”  Scott grumbled and slowly walked off, Stiles trailing after him.

“How are _you_ doing?”

Scott just shook his head.  “I don’t even know.  I played badly today I know that, I let it all get to me, tried too hard.  But… I just couldn’t help but think about Isaac and what he was going through and how I couldn’t do anything.”

“I know bud,” Stiles reached over a gripped his friends’ shoulder, trying to be supportive. “But… you went through a lot too… I mean… I heard what they were chanting.”

Scott give him a sideways glance, “Yeah? So?” 

Stiles frowned. “Didn’t it bother you? It was vile!” Stiles asked, surprised.

His friend stopped and turned to him, considering before answering.  “Yeah.  Yeah it was and it sucks and I wish it hadn’t happened. I hope that the idiots chanting get lifetime bans and it _was_ awful.  But… it was dumb.  It was pointless and stupid.  They just made themselves and their team look bad and for what? To put me off my game? That was already done.”

“But… it was horrid.” Stiles repeated.

“Yeah it was.” Scott gave his friend a sad smile.  “But it wasn’t anything like what Isaac’ll be going through.  Or what it would have been like if it was you.” He started walking again and dropped his voice.  “Despite whatever happened with me and Isaac, I’m not gay. I might be a bit more flexisexual than I thought, but I don’t think of myself as gay, not like you do.   I can’t imagine how that would have felt for you out there buddy… I just hope it never happens to you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me all the time.”

“Oh really?! You squared off to Ennis! I mean, come on, I’ve got you back an’ all bro, but Jesus!” He laughed and Stiles chuckled with him.

“God I know… Dad’s pretty pissed at me, I reckon Louis will be too… can’t believe _I_  got a yellow.”

“Oh yeah… coz you’re such a clean player.” The sarcasm in Scott’s voice was beyond necessary.

“I am!” Stiles protested with a laugh.

“Uh-huh. Sure.  What about…” They dissolved into their playful banter, both sensing the need for a bit of normalcy from the other. 

The room that Scott had stayed in last time they’d been trapped in Old Trafford still contained his X-Box so they settled in and ordered some food – sadly not the pizza they’d both craved – determined to have an enjoyable evening.

At nearly ten o’clock Stiles phone went and he guilty rejected the call, knowing Scott needed him.

“Who was that?” His friend asked.

“Danny.  I’ll call him back.” Stiles shrugged but Scott rolled his eyes and pushed his friend off the bed.

“GO! Phone him back, catch up… I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, not wanting to be a bad friend.

“Yeah. I should probably phone Allison too, see if they’re in London yet? Hey…” Scott, worried at his lower lip for a second. “Can you ask your Dad if Isaac’s OK? And willing to talk to me – I totally get it if he’s not…” Scott assured him and Stiles just nodded before leaving and heading back to ‘his’ room.

Settling onto his bed with a sigh he called his Dad first – they’d just got in having dropped off Allison at hers and had grabbed some food. He asked about Isaac and whether he’d talk to Scott leading to a whispered conversation Stiles couldn’t quite make out but resulted in a message that Isaac would phone Scott soon. 

After that he called Danny, apologised for not answering straight away and crawled under the blankets, snuggling into his pillow, wishing it was the boy on the phone.

 

*             *             *

 

The next day, a Sunday, was spent with a short debrief on the match.  Jackson was prowling around with a scowl on his face as Wayne Rooney, who’d been sullen and grumpy so far that season, was joking and laughing with his teammates.  Clearly he’d been frustrated at van Gaal giving the younger players time on the pitch in the friendlies and no doubt, after his goal against Liverpool, considered his place as leading striker assured.

Stiles snorted, thinking that, despite the goal, Rooney hadn’t shown half as much skill as Scott, or determination as Jackson, or presence as Hale.  Settling in with Matt, Scott and Jackson the ‘newbies’ sat towards the back, knowing that the breakdown of the match wouldn’t be much about them.  Jackson gave them a bro-nod when they sat but Stiles caught the faint look of displeasure Daehler directed at Scott.

Knowing his friend wouldn’t want a scene, Stiles didn’t say anything, but stared hard at Matt who, when he looked up, realised that he’d been spotted and at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Nothing in the meeting was about them and nothing was mentioned about Scott and the newspaper stories.  That being the case though, when the team filed out to the training pitch for a light warm up, Scott was definitely given a wide berth by a few of the team.

Stiles tried to keep his eye on his friend, just as Hale and Darren Fletcher were, though it was Robin van Persie who seemed to go out of his way to make sure the younger player wasn’t left out, or made uncomfortable.  Scott explained one night that van Persie had some gay friends back in The Netherlands and he knew they’d been through a lot.  Scott had tried to explain that he wasn’t gay and it was just rumours, but apparently Robin had just shrugged and said ‘doesn’t make it any less difficult.’

Scott and Stiles spent each evening in Old Trafford, both trying to pretend they weren’t watching the news unfurl across the internet.  Occasionally sometimes, they just gave in and spent a couple of hours on Twitter, or flicking through ‘news’ sites. 

After Isaac’s disappearance, Manchester United’s emphatic shut down and Scott’s own silence, the major news stations moved on, occasionally referencing the story but not continuing the rolling coverage.

Danny had become a bit of a minor celebrity after his appearance on the world’s media but he backed away from everything as quietly as he could.  It didn’t stop the online world inventing all sorts of rumours and stories about him and his place in the Scott/Isaac relationship, especially after it was established that he was gay too.  With no new fire though the story started to settle down and by the Wednesday, both Scott and Stiles were ready to go home, which is the conversation they were expecting to have with Marin when she asked to see them after training one day.

“Are we homeward bound then, not that we’ve not enjoyed life here at Chez Trafford but… home comforts and all…” Stiles was grinning widely, a smile that slipped as he took in the look on Marin’s face.

“No.  We’ve had some… developments.” She said, carefully selecting her words as she lowered herself into a chair.

The two boys shared a look before Scott asked: “What do you mean?”  She motioned them to sit and continued.

“As you are aware, GQ magazine is out tomorrow, with the spread on Mr Mahaelani’s business and the photos of you two.” She paused and waited for their nods before continuing.  “Well, they’re publishing a… greater selection of pictures online than will be in the magazine.” Stiles thought furiously.  The magazine pictures were fairly tame; they’d seen the proofs, there were two of Scott in his boxers, one on his own holding up a jacket and another with Danny standing behind him and measuring his shoulders.  He thought about that picture again and, even with the revelations in the newspapers and online, didn’t see much of an issue.

“I don’t understand.” He said after a couple of seconds, happy to speak for his friend who was silent again.

“Well.  We found out that their online edition will have additional pictures including one, which given the context and atmostphere at the moment is like to pour oil on the flames.” She paused as Braeden, her assistant, passed her a tablet which she passed on to Scott who closed his eyes and seemed to wince.

Stiles grabbed it and his breath caught before coming out in a long sigh.  The picture was, unsurprisingly, of Scott in his boxers.  However, in this picture he was clearly laughing, stomach clenching handsomely and he was smiling down at Isaac, who was on his knees and smiling back up at the footballer.  If that wasn’t enough he had one hand on Scott’s thigh, quite high on Scott’s thigh and his fingertips were just disappearing under the material of the boxers.  It _was_ quite an intimate picture and one that would only be interpreted one way.

“Can’t you do anything? Stop it somehow?” Stiles asked and Marin shook her head.

“Not this time.  This isn’t a story, they aren’t writing anything, and they are merely releasing the picture as part of a fashion spread. Are you _sure_ there’s _nothing_ you want to tell me?” She addressed Scott who merely shook his head.

Stiles opened his mouth to tell her everything but Scott’s hand shot out and grabbed his friend’s arm. “No Stiles.  Just… no.” He said and shot an apologetic look at Marin who looked incredibly displeased.

“Well.  There’s nothing more we can do.  I suggest staying here again and I’ll mention that we’ll no doubt be receiving yet more attention to the relevant parties.  Would you like _me_ to inform Mr van Gaal?” She asked and Stiles nodded.

“Please.  As I’m sure you can appreciate, this is a pretty fucked up situation.”  Stiles’ expression clearly showed he was one hundred percent done with Marin’s attitude and without a further word he dragged Scott up and they left.  “God, she can be such a bitch.” He muttered, though he waited until he was out of earshot to do it.

“She’s just doing her job.” Scott’s voice was hollow and leaden when he replied, making his friend wince.  Stiles knew that tone, that expression and knew Scott’s mind was processing and imagining worst case scenarios. “God, I need to phone Isaac… again…”

“I’ll do it.” Stiles offered, hoping there was at least something he could do but Scott shook his head.

“Thanks man, but no. I need to do this.”

They walked in silence back to their rooms, Stiles thinking up and rejecting thirty or forty topics of conversation on the way.  Scott immediately collapsed on the bed, arm up covering his eyes, no doubt wondering how this had become his life.

“How you doing there, bud? Stiles asked, already knowing the answer but needing to fill the silence.

“Honestly? Pretty fucking shit.” Scott said without moving.  “This is all so…” He paused then sat up, glancing over at his friend. “I actually spoke to Isaac last night.  We spoke… a lot.  He said that, even if I did want to, he didn’t want to try dating or whatever.” Stiles grimaced as Scott started picking at an imaginary thread on the bedspread. “He said that it’d never work and that he had to move on, that maybe we could still be friends, especially coz of you and Danny, but I just need to leave him alone for a while.”

“O…K…” Stiles said slowly, “And how you doing with that?” 

Scott shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Honestly, even before all this shit blew up I was thinking in that direction anyway? Like… I really, really like Isaac.  A lot.  And I could probably be with him, you know, like that.  But… whenever I thought about it, it wasn’t what I wanted, like deep down?”

“Like you were emotionally attracted to him but maybe not physically?” Stiles asked and his friend nodded.

“Bingo. But then… maybe the physical would come, you know? Like… the night of the party, when we…” He paused and Stiles nodded quickly, not needing details; he knew what Scott was meaning. “I did things, things I’d not done before and it was good, it was great so I know I _could_ , I just didn’t know if that was enough.”  Scott was silent for a while and Stiles left him to his thoughts.  “It’s all whatever now though.  He doesn’t want anything to do with me, which I get… I just… fuck.” He dropped back onto the bed.  “It’s all so messed up.”

Stiles nodded, despite knowing his friend couldn’t see him.  “What can I do…?” He asked eventually and Scott looked over, a little smirk on his face.

“Not a fucking thing, but thanks bro.” This time the silence dragged on longer until Scott broke it again: “I need to phone Isaac.”

“OK. I’ll go… do something…” Stiles said, standing though with no real clue what he was going to do.  He’d expected to be able to go back to their flat, maybe even spend some time with Danny, but instead it would be another round of phone calls explaining that there’d be yet more news reports and yet more speculation.  Thinking, once again, that the best thing to do might be just for him to come out, Stiles slunk out of the room and into his own.

 

*             *             *

 

Marin had been correct; the GQ photos had reignited the story and newspapers and commentators spent the next couple of days speculating not so much on whether there _was_ a relationship between Scott and Isaac, but why he wasn’t saying anything about it.

On the Saturday morning, before they’d even had breakfast, Braeden had appeared at Scott’s door armed with yet another story.  She’d knocked on Stiles door after she’d talked it through with Scott, asking him to watch out for his friend and he’d timidly ventured into the adjoining room.

Scott was sitting at the desk, looking at the front page of a paper, The Sun, of course. Stiles almost snorted his displeasure at seeing the tabloid rag but took it from his friend as Scott offered it to him.

The front page had the headline: **_You’ll never guess who she’s dating now!_**   The picture was of Allison, sitting at an outside table at some trendy London café bar, hand stretched across to a mysteriously blacked out figure.  Rolling his eyes at the obvious attempt to ensure sales, Stiles dutifully followed the instructions to turn to page 5 where a double spread of pictures of Allison and Isaac were surrounded by the ‘story’; no doubt it was rampant speculation rather than actual fact, but still. 

There was the picture from the front page of them clearly holding hands and then a series of shots in which it _looked like_ they’d leant in for a kiss, but the crucial picture of them actually kissing was missing.  Stiles threw down the paper in disgust.  “Fuck’s sake.” He murmured and perched on the end of Scott’s bed.

“Right.” He mumbled sounding numb and beaten. 

“They’re not _actually_ dating though, are they!?” Stiles asked, surprised by the idea.

“Why not? He’s bi and was definitely as into Alli as I was.  Why shouldn’t they be together?” His pain was evident and Stiles hated the newspaper with a passion that surprised himself.

“Have you talked to either of them?” Scott just shook his head. “Oh, for God’s sake.” He threw up his hands and went to get his friend’s phone.  It took less than five seconds to unlock it and find Allison’s number.  “You really should change your lock code.” He told his friend while he waited for it to connect.

Seemingly despite himself, Scott laughed.  Just once, but it was a start.  “Scott?” Allison’s voice sounded sleepy and blurry in his ear.

“Nope, tis I, Stiles… listen… you and Isaac aren’t, like, dating are you?” He asked, refusing to feel embarrassed to be asking.

“Stiles.” The threat in Allison’s voice was obvious.

“No listen. That shitrag The Sun has you on the front page apparently on a date with Isaac.”

“What?”  Stiles rolled his eyes and mentally willed his friend to wake up faster.  He explained again and this time it clicked.

“Oh my God, no.  He’d been cooped up at your Dad’s all week so I took him out for lunch.  I’m literally the only other person he knows in London… we talked, hugged, that’s it.”  Stiles had put the call on speaker phone so Scott heard too and Stiles saw some of the tension seep out of him.

“You’ll need to warn your mum and dad…urgh… they’re gonna hate me even more now.” He groaned and both Stiles and Allison chuckled at him. 

“No they won’t, they’ll hate you exactly the amount they always have. Now… you boys go kick your ball around in a field, I have training and I think I better called Ise too, let him know he’s in the papers again.” Her voice became exceedingly dry.  “Oh goodie.  He’ll love that.”

“How is he?” Scott asked quickly, blushing slightly as he did.

“He’s OK.  Well, not really, but Stiles’ dad has been ace and he’s not had to run away from any paparazzi so far so we’ll call that a win.”  She said, trying and failing to sound cheerful.

“Tell him… tell him… aw, shit, I don’t know…tell him I hope he’s OK.” Scott said finally, kicking at the bed listlessly.

“I will baby,” Allison said with genuine concern in her voice.  “You take care and good luck against Swansea.”

“If I play.” Scott grumbled.

“Yeah, if you play.  You too, Stiles.” He was so used to being the afterthought that it barely even registered for Stiles anymore.

Allison signed off and Stiles cajoled his friend into getting ready to not only face the day, but the team and a match as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Another match next chapter! :-)


	21. Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Manchester United's first game of the season.

None of the fears which were clearly rattling around in Scott’s head manifested as the rest of the team appeared at Old Trafford.  He was clearly expecting some reaction, something from someone about the photos, or Allison and Isaac.  But, to Stiles’ eyes, there was nothing.  The teammates who knew him best nodded hello though some of the others did seemed to ignore him. 

Stiles took it as a win, though Scott argued that he wouldn’t be blanked so obviously had it not been for the stories.  Rather than argue, Stiles had led his friend over to what he was thinking of as their spot in the meeting room - at the back, out of the way.

Jackson and Matt appeared and started to make their way over.  Before they made it though, Matt grabbed at Jackson’s arm, trying to pull him away from the other new starts, but the striker just shrugged him off.  “Alright lads,” he greeted them when he sat. They both nodded, though Scott frowned over at where Matt was; perched at the end of a collection of defenders.  “Ignore him, he’s being a bellend.”

“What?” Scott asked, attention snapping back.

“Said he didn’t want to be seen with you in case people thought he was bent too.”  Jackson supplied, leaning back and stretching, his hoodie riding up and exposing a delicious strip of skin above his tracksuit bottoms.  Stiles couldn’t help but glance; while he really liked Danny, obviously, Jackson still looked was Jackson and Stiles was only human.  He looked away before either of the other guys could see what he’d done, but he still felt a blush flash over his face.  _Having that defined a stomach shouldn’t be legal. Except on Danny.  That’s fine._  Stiles smiled and reminded himself that he’d arranged to get away to his boyfriend’s that evening. 

It had been too long since they’d seen each other, though, after the fourth or fifth night he’d got over his embarrassment and they’d started having phone sex.  The first night, Stiles had been so self-conscious he’d faked it, but... the second time. Well, that was a different story.

“Why don’t you just come out?” Jackson said and Stiles’ head snapped up, only to find that the other boy wasn’t talking to him, he was still addressing Scott.

“I’ve nothing to come out of.” His friend replied.

“Come on man.  I saw you two at the party and I know he slept in your room with you and Allison.” Jackson held up his hand to stop any protests.  “I don’t care man.  Gay, bi, curious, whatever you are... if you front up and just say it, it’ll all blow over.  Most of the guys,” his head jerked to the body of the room, “they don’t care if you’re dating Isaac, they just want to know. You know?”

Scott scrubbed his hands through his hair.  “They _do_ know.  I’m not gay, and I’m not dating Isaac.  If I was, I’d say.  Honest.”  He’d raised his voice a little, letting it carry across the room, silencing a lot of conversations which started up again after a short pause.

“Whatever.” Jackson raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.  “I’m just saying.  The guys’ll feel better and...” He leant in dropping his voice.  “Between you me and your shadow,” he nodded at Stiles who gave Jackson his best ‘fuck-you’ look, “you’d _rake_ it in in sponsorship.  My agents got a half dozen firms looking to use you if you come out, including a couple of _international brands._ ”

“I’m. Not. Gay.” Scott repeated, but Stiles couldn’t resist.

“What do you mean... they’d sponsor him to be gay?!”

“No dumbass. But _if_ he is, he’d instantly become one of the most famous people in the world.  Everyone would know his name, I mean, even more than now.  Brands want in on that coverage.  If he comes out and the next day is photographed covered in Nike? They get that association.  They get the ‘look how cool we are with gays’ which translates into money.  Fame, advertising, money.” He ticked them off on his fingers.  “Ask Derek.  He’s done a shit load of adverts.”

Stiles looked up at their captain, currently talking to Louis and checking the room; seeing who was missing.  “Really?” He’d not really thought about it, but, without trying too hard could picture several commercials and adverts in which Derek featured, often without a shirt.  Blushing again and pushing aside thoughts of their overly attractive captain, Stiles refocused his mind on Danny.  His hot, beautiful boyfriend. 

“OK guys, gather in.” Derek called and all attention was redirected to the front where Ryan Giggs started going through everything they needed to know for the upcoming game against Swansea.  It was a game that they all expected to win; Swansea hadn’t been them in years, especially not at Old Trafford but Louis was emphatic that they _had to win._

While the preseason had gone well, really well, this was the first game of the league proper and Manchester United needed to come out fighting to put to bed the year before.  To that end, van Gaal was putting in a mixture of old and new.  Jackson, Ander and Luke all started with Hale, Stiles and Scott were on the bench again though Matt was still sitting out.  The rest of the squad and subs were made up of the best Manchester had to offer.  van Gaal needed to win, that was clear.

Derek spoke about how they would play, how aggressive they would be, but cautioned the midfield to watch for a break and be sure to support the defence.  Up front would be Whittemore and van Persie on the wings with Rooney in the middle.  Hale would play behind him, feeding him balls through the centre when they weren’t coming from the wings.  They’d been through the Swansea defence briefings the day before, so knew where the gaps could be, where the opportunities could come from.

At the end of the meeting, Hale, Giggs and van Gaal all stressed one more time how important the game was, how they needed to win.  Stiles’ nerves were in bits.  He just hoped that if he was subbed on, with Scott naturally, they’d be a couple of goals up already and he wouldn’t need to worry about the fate of the game.  Holding on to that hope for all he was worth he headed off to the midfield coach to talk strategy. 

Scott went off with Jackson and gravitated to Robin van Persie who grabbed his shoulder in a friendly way.  His relief that at least the team seemed unmoved by the new stories was short lived as a determined looking Marin appeared in the door way, waiting to be noticed.  Stiles had spotted her almost immediately and nudged Derek’s arm pointing him her way when he looked over.  The captain gathered in Louis and Ryan before he went to find out what she wanted. 

From the headshake, eye roll and open disbelief on their faces, Stiles guessed it was bad news.  His suspicions were confirmed when Derek moved to where Scott was and drew him back to where Marin was waiting.  Without being told, or asking permission, Stiles went too.  Hale opened his mouth, no doubt to send him away, but Scott just said, ‘please’.  Just once, very softly and Derek relented. 

“Another development?” Scott asked as they reached their handler.

“I’m afraid so, yes.  This time from your old captain, Scott Brown.”  Brown was the captain of Celtic, in Scotland.  He was an old-school captain, free with elbows and tackles but a great player.  Stiles almost held his breath waiting to find out what happened.  “He was on a Scottish sports show this morning and said... well...” She passed her tablet over to Scott and Stiles read over his shoulder;  a paragraph had been highlighted.

_McCall? Sure, maybe.  I mean, why not? We all thought he was dating that Stilinski kid the amount of time they talked on the phone.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he was gay at all, I’d be happy for him if he was coming out and I’d have his back – not like that! But if anyone wants to have a go, I’ll be there for the boy, he’s just a kid really isn’t he? But sure.  I can see it._

“In light of the photos and the story this morning,” Marin continued after she was sure they’d finished reading, “this is being picked up.  Are you close with Mr Brown?”

“Not really.” Scott admitted.  “I mean, we spoke when I signed for Man U and we’ve texted a couple of times, but no.”

“I see, so... would you feel comfortable calling and asking him to clarify?” She asked and Scott paused, thinking.

“Maybe, what do I need to do?”

“If you’ll come with me, we can work out exactly what our next steps will be?” It was a question for Scott, but she asked it of Derek and Louis who both nodded.  When Stiles went to follow, Derek placed a large hand on his chest.

“Not you, Stilinski... we’re going back in.” He said, then snatched his hand away like he didn’t want to touch Stiles any longer.  Rolling his eyes, deciding not to read anything into it, Stiles gave his friend a last, supportive look before heading back to talk midfield positions and plays.

To Stiles’ mind, there wasn’t much that Scott could actually do.  Sure, he could call his old skipper and ask him to clarify, but no one would really bother with the clarification, they’d just read the headline – _We all though Scott McCall was gay. ­_ If he was being arrogant, Stiles could even throw in the bit about how they’d thought he and Scott were dating, but doubted anyone would really give him a second thought.

In light of all the news stations, online news sites and Twitter generally, it was only a matter of time before other sportspeople got involved in this conversation.  Sites like Outsports and Pinknews were already running stories about the Premier League and gay players and Robbie Rogers had penned a thoughtful piece for a magazine in the United States.  Stiles knew, the longer the story dragged on, the more voices and comments would be made.  There was no way Manchester United could control that.

Once again, Stiles thought about just coming out.  Getting it done over and done with.

Then his attention was refocused as his own energetic and unpredictable style was brought up and folded into plans and discussions.

Life was life, but football was football and, at that point, that took precedent.

 

*             *             *

 

“McCall, Stilinski!” Louis barked.  Stiles’ stomach dropped to his boots.  Manchester United were 2-1 down and there was only fourteen minutes of regular play left.

It had been a bad game from the start.  Hale had been yelling at his players before the first five minutes were through.  They were scrappy and disorganised and more than once Stiles had to fight a wince as set pieces he’d seen practiced well in training fell apart on the pitch.  By the time Swansea scored the home fans were already pretty quiet.

It wasn’t even a good goal.  There had been a corner, poorly cleared and it had landed to Sigurdsson who’d had far too long to place a merely adequate ball through to the Korean midfielder Sung-Yong Ki who’s strike had bundled itself under de Gea who hadn’t quite dropped quickly enough to stop it.  The away fans had gone insane and Stiles, like the Man U fans, had sat stunned. It was the worst possible start.

The first half stuttered to an end with that score line, 1-0 down.  Half time had seen first Hale, then Louis, go ballistic at the team.  Stiles had watched, head down, as his captain and manager fired the team up, got them ready for the second half.  The talk seemed to have worked as Manchester came out fighting and the crowd started to reanimate, urging their team on, certain a goal was on the way.

Wayne Rooney provided it with a ridiculously ostentatious overhead kick in the 53rd minute.  He’d clearly been delighted and was roaring along with his fans, clearly turning his back on Derek as his captain went to celebrate his goal.  Stiles stiffened at the slight, but couldn’t react, he knew, once again, there was a camera on the sub bench, just waiting for something to show.

After that, it seemed inevitable that Manchester would score again but, twenty minutes after Rooney’s equaliser, Sigurdsson scored on the break – exactly what Hale had warned against. 

“Come on.” Scott said, pulling Stiles up without looking and trotting quickly over to the captain.

“I need you on and to start scoring, yes?” Louis said without even looking at them.

“Sure thing.” Scott said, with as much bravado as he could muster, though Stiles stayed silent, his mouth suddenly dry.  While excited to play, the pressure was insane.  They were a goal down, in the opening game of the season and he and Scott were being subbed on to get two goals in less than fifteen minutes. 

They were politely applauded on for Jackson, who stalked off without a word to either of them, and Nick Powell who shook hands with Stiles as he ran on.  There were no jeers, no shouts from the Swansea fans and Stiles released some of the tension he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying.  Suddenly, the ball was kicked out by de Gea and Stiles watched it float over to Herrara on the far wing.  Jogging up the pitch, keeping track of the ball, Stiles mind focused and he fell into playing the sport he loved.

Back and forth the game flowed, Scott and Stiles’ freshness making the Swansea defence work harder than ever.  Over and over they probed and pushed, shutting down breaks as they happened and always searching for that one gap, that one mistake. 

When it came, Scott was on it almost before Stiles could see what had happened.  Essentially, a defender had slipped when passing the ball out and sliced it across the pitch.   Scott sprinted faster than Stiles had ever seen and booted the ball so hard back at the goal that it had punched into the back of the net before the Swansea keeper had even moved.

The roar of the crowd was deafening.  Stiles didn’t even hear his own whoop of joy in the cacophony of sound.  Jogging over to where Scott was being soundly congratulated by most of the team, Stiles got in his friends’ face to share a grin with him.  “One down.” Scott shouted over the cheers. 

“One down.” Stiles agreed and they pushed away from their teammates.  Scott pointed to the centre spot, wanting to start the game again.  They’d not been told how many minutes of extra time there’d be though Stiles thought they probably had five minutes left of regular play. 

The game started again with Manchester piling forward.  It seemed almost everyone was pushing toward the goal, desperate to get that winning goal.  Which is why, when the break came it was so surprising and why Swansea got so far.  Stiles sprinted down the wing, angling in to block the attack.  All his training must have paid off because he went from one end of the pitch to the other in less time than he ever had.

More surprising than that though was the fact that his sliding tackle not only connected solidly with the ball but that he managed to roll up out of it still with the ball in his possession.  Glancing behind him he saw the Swansea playing rolling around on the ground, clearly asking that a foul be given but the ref just signalled to play on. 

Dribbling as fast as he could into space, he caught Scott’s eye and raised a fist pumping it three times.  Scott nodded and cut in across the pitch, easily catching the pass Stiles sent his way.  Rather than hang back though Stiles bounced into another sprint, counting in his head and turning on seven, the ball at his feet from the pass at sent that way.  Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw his friend sprinting up through the middle and sent another pass directly where he knew Scott would be.  When that pass connected Stiles ran up further, collecting the next pass at the edge the box.

He faked a run, sending the defender on way then doubled back a pace to cross the ball into where Scott was charging towards the back post.  At the last possible moment, his friend jumped and flicked a header in behind the Swansea keeper and, just like that, it was 3-2.

The noise once more hit them like a wave, but one that never ended. Scott bolted away from his teammates and straight to a camera.  Rather than shake it, or make a heart, or send any other message, Scott just stood, arms folded, staring down the camera.  Looking straight into every living room, every pub, every fans’ eyes and daring them to say something.  Stiles did his best to try and keep the rest of his team back, but their delight was overwhelming and, after a few seconds, they barrelled Scott away from the camera and into a massive pile up.

When they let him up though, Scott wasn’t grinning, wasn’t happy like Stiles expected.  “Is it enough?” He asked, hand over his mouth, so no one could read his lips.

Copying him, Stiles replied. “Mate, forget about it! You were amazing.”  He hoped that being as happy as possible would snap his friend out of his funk.

Scott just shook his head.  “Maybe...” 

Anger flashed through Stiles once more, but he pushed it down and swayed into his friend, bumping his shoulder.  “Come on mate.  It’s not over yet.”

Despite saying that, the last two minutes of the game were uneventful and the final whistle blew with Manchester taking all three points.

Scott’s question kept ringing in his ears over all the cheers, _is it enough? Is it enough? Is it enough?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it.


	22. Phone call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the victory Scott gets an important phone call.

Scott’s glum mood didn’t last long once the final whistle went and they could all relax after winning the first game of the season.  If they’d lost… Stiles dreaded to think what that would have meant for the club, for Louis, for Derek and for him and Scott. 

None of that mattered though as Louis’ new signings made the difference and ensured the win.  Stiles was having to focus all of his attention on not breaking down into fits of giggles, or running around the pitch jumping for joy.  Instead, he steadily did a lap of the pitch with Scott applauding the home fans; something they’d always done at Fulham and seemed perfectly natural.  With the pressure of the game off he could make out individual faces cheering them, shouting Scott’s name – not with insults or slurs, but genuine affection.

Stiles wasn’t an idiot, he knew that in that moment, scoring the two goals which secured the win, Scott was _everyone’s_ hero. For some, it may not last, but at that moment, Manchester United fans loved Scott McCall.  Losing his focus for a second he laughed and shook his friend, yelling wordlessly into his ear.  The crowd in front of them cheered louder and Stiles looked up to see joyous faces laughing down with them.

 _With them_. Not at them.

Before they’d done a full circuit, Scott was bashfully smiling and waving back.  Thinking back to how over the top he used to be in goal celebrations, Stiles released that, for all his best friend’s bravado, all the rumours really had taken a toll.  Deciding not to dwell on that and just celebrate the win, he joined the rest of the team in cheering and applauding the crowd, who returned the sentiment tenfold.

Eventually turning away from the crowd and heading back down the tunnel to the changing rooms, Stiles suddenly realised that Rooney hadn’t been with them.  The older striker must have headed straight in after the final whistle.  Before he could worry about what that might mean for them, for the team, Ryan Giggs appeared at Scott’s other side and crowded the pair of them closer to the wall.

“Hey! What gives man?” Stiles asked with a smile, spreading his arms in question.

“Nothing Stilinski, we just want you two straight into the dressing room and there’s a fair few journalists who were quite insistent in wanting to talk to you, Scott.” Ryan nodded at the young striker who’s happy smile faded almost instantly.

“OK.” Was all he said and once more Stiles’ heart broke.  He knew Scott _loved_ giving post match interviews, especially if he’d scored – let alone if he scored twice to win the game.  But because of the stupid rumours he wasn’t being allowed the opportunity to do what any other footballer would.  Stiles went through a rollercoaster of emotions before anger won out.  Anger at the press, anger at Tucker for selling the story, anger at Derek Hale for slipping up on Jonathon Ross and lastly, and mostly, anger at himself. 

If he wasn’t so selfish, so scared, Scott wouldn’t be going through any of what he was, but, there Stiles was, huddled in the closet, hiding from the world.  Hiding behind Scott who was taking all the punishment, all the insults, all the negative affects.  Shaking his head, Stiles hated the world in that moment.  He hated what was happening to them all. 

He just wanted to play football.  He wanted to date Danny too, and he wanted for his friends and family to be happy.  Play football, date, have happy friends.  Why did that feel so much?

Suddenly, Stiles was pulled out of his spiral by Chris Smalling dragging him into a jumping, singing, whirling mass of Manchester players.  After seeing Scott similarly pulled in by Darren Fletcher, Stiles relaxed into it and let the euphoria of winning claim him once again.

Little did he know how short a time that euphoria would last.

 

*             *             *

 

Scott and Stiles were in Scott’s room again, mainly because he had the X-box.  Danny had, rather graciously, accepted that Stiles wouldn’t be able to see him that evening, especially after Scott’s win and the multitude of cameras at Old Trafford.  The news stations had clearly decided that his two goals warranted yet another round of ‘Is he or isn’t he?’ and ‘Would it make a difference?’

After both had had baths, separately, and changed into fresh clothes they’d eaten in Scott’s room and played video games while waiting for Match of the Day to come on.  Unsurprisingly, the Man U game was going to be the first game shown.

Stiles and Danny were texting each other continuously, at Scott’s encouragement.  He even typed some of the messages while Stiles was playing games – though he had balked at some of the raunchier ones that were flying between the two boys.  ‘Bicurious does not mean I want to read about what my best friend does or wants to do with his boyfriend.’ Scott had chuckled as he said it and thrown the phone into Stiles’ lap.

“Is that what you are then? Bicurious?” He’d asked, taking the opportunity Scott’s protest had given him.

“I dunno... maybe... can you be bicurious for just one guy?”

“Scotty, I reckon you can be anything you want to be.”

“Maybe... but... not a footballer at the same time.” He’d grumbled, articulating exactly how Stiles had been feeling for years.

For once in his life, Stiles couldn’t think of what to say so instead just tossed the controller to his friend and swapped places with him. 

Somewhere through the third mission, Scott’s phone went and he nodded to his friend to answer it. Stiles frowned down at the screen, seeing Bobby’s number; their agent.  “It’s Bobby... you want it?”

Scott rolled his eyes, “Sure...” He paused while Stiles connected the call and put it on speaker. “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Well, Scott, first of all, I’ve not heard from you in a while.  Thought I might have called your old pal Bobby... talked some things over.”

Scott paused the game and turned to the phone, face colouring slightly in anger. “Bobby, I swear, if there was anything to tell you I would.  Did you actually want something?” He demanded, clearly not entertaining any small talk.

“Yeah, yeah actually I did.  Listen, have you heard of Dan Hitch?”

The two boys shared a look, both shrugging, “No, should I of?” Scott asked, confusion trumping annoyance.

“Well, yeah... he’s one of Roy Hodgson’s staff, he’s going to be calling you in a few minutes.”

“Roy Hodgson? The England manager?” Scott asked, clearly shocked.   Stiles just grinned.  Scott was getting a call for the England squad.  They had friendlies coming up and no doubt Hodgson was looking to test some new blood. 

“You know any others?!” Bobby barked, “Of course the England manager.  Now... Don’t get ahead of yourself, this isn’t Roy or even Ray Lewington, but... they’re calling which means they’re interested.”

“Fuck.” Scott breathed, breaking into a massive grin.

“Don’t swear on the phone with England!” Bobby barked, but laughed with it.

“Shit, sorry.” Scott said, his own laugh bubbling over. 

“Right, well... answer the next call you have from a London number you don’t know, OK?”

“Sure...” Bobby said goodbye and hung up and Scott and Stiles shared a look of pleasure and amazement.  “Oh my God. England!” 

“I know right! It’ll be because of the goals today... and all of your goals.” They spent a nervous few minutes pacing and grinning, waiting for the call. 

When it came, Scott threw the phone at Stiles and hissed, “You answer!”

“What!? NO! It’s for you!” He threw it back.

“Stiles! Answer!” Lobbing the phone back at his friend, he did his best puppy dog look.

“That might work on Allison, but I’m immune, pick up the phone.” When throwing it back, he must have accidently connected the call as when Scott caught it, they both heard a small tinny voice say: ‘Hello?’ before Scott dropped the phone.

He frantically dropped to the ground and scrambled for the phone, eventually dragging it close enough to reply, “Hello?” Back.

Stiles joined his friend on the ground and tapped his finger on the speaker button, making the voice on the end of the phone louder.  “Hello, Scott McCall?”

“Uh-huh?”

“This is Dan Hitch, I believe you were expecting my call?”

“Uh-huh?” Scott managed to finally say and Stiles rolled his eyes but smiled, still happy for his friend.

“I just wanted to talk to about something.  It’s a little... delicate.” Stiles’ stomach sank, dreading where the conversation was going. “Now, you have to understand that I’m not talking to you officially, this isn’t coming from Roy, I just wanted you to know that I was very impressed with your performance today.”

“Thank you.” Scott said politely, a smile still plastered all over his face. Stiles blinked, wondering whether he was maybe over thinking the part where Dan had said it was ‘delicate’.

“We all were impressed.  And, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are some friendlies coming up.”  Scott sat up, cross-legged and grinned at his friend.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” The excitement in his voice was obvious. 

“Great. Well, we want the best squad, in the best shape and with the least distractions.” Stiles face flushed.  He knew it. 

“OK...” Scott said slowly, a little confused.

“And I’m sure you can appreciate, the recent stories in the papers are certainly distracting.”  The penny dropped and Scott screwed his eyes up and rolled his head back.  “Though, and this is important.  I think if you were just to issue a firm statement of denial and could _ensure_ there were no more stories or revelations, I’m sure Roy would be interested in a conversation.”

Scott was silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“We’re just concerned about your _situation_ and the impact it could have on the squad.  If you were able to confirm there is no substance to the rumours and could promise no further... distractions...”  The man trailed off and they were left in silence.

Stiles was on the verge of tears.  He couldn’t believe his ears.  Scott was being told that he had to promise there’d be no more rumours that he was gay, or in a relationship with a guy, before he could be considered to play in the English international squad.

“So...” Scott said eventually. “If I tell you I’m not gay, promise there’s no more stories and no more guys... I can talk to the England manager?”

“Well... I wouldn’t put it like that and, let me remind you, this isn’t coming from Roy, this is just me, letting you know how impressed I was and how concerned I am for wellbeing.”  Stiles rolled his eyes so hard his head lolled to the side and shook back and forth.

“But that is what you’re saying?” Scott clarified.

There was a pause, “Well, I guess really the question is... can you ensure there are no more stories?”

“No.” Scott said and stood as Stiles tried to grab the phone off him; he didn’t know what he wanted to do, he just wanted to do something.  Walking away, Scott continued. “No I really can’t.  I didn’t start the first story, or have anything to do with the GQ shoot, or The Sun printing rubbish and I certainly had nothing to do with Scott Brown this morning.  I can’t promise no more stories because I don’t control the media.  I just play football.  If I can help England play, if they need me, I’ll be happy to wear the strip, but I’m not making a statement or saying I’m not... or I mean. Just...” Scott’s words got away from him and the man on the phone took the opportunity to jump in.

“I think we might be talking at cross purposes here Scott, that’s not what I meant, but I think I have what I need for now.  Good luck this season.” He said with a finality which brooked no rebuttal.

Scott didn’t reply, he just hung up and dropped the phone on the bed. Stiles stood up but his friend just held up one hand, forestalling any attempt at comfort.  His other hand was pinching at his nose, probably holding back tears.  Stiles was unashamed that his own tears had made two tracks down his cheeks. 

Eventually, Scott walked slowly to a cabinet in the corner and rummaged around in the back.  Turning he lifted up a large bottle of Jack Daniels.

Eyes red and chest heaving as he sighed his disappointment he finally just said:

“Let’s get drunk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Gx


	23. Drinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles get drunk.

“Where’d you get that?” Stiles had asked, surprised.  Both Scott’s nurse mum and Stiles’ police officer dad had been very strict on the ‘not drinking underage’ thing coming from the twin points of health and law.  However, boys being boys, and footballers being footballers, they’d spent more than a few nights drinking with their teammates.

Stiles only ever got drunk though when it was just him and Scott; it was too risky otherwise.  While he never crushed on his teammates, that was just a bit… close… there was always some guy, usually a coach or trainer, who had him flustered and lusty.  He was so paranoid about losing control and saying something, or staring too long or just being obvious in some way, he normally just nursed his drink in the corner.  Yet another example of how he was different from everyone else.

Just him and Scott though? That was different.

“Jackson brought it last week when the GQ thing hit.” He said hefting the bottle and shuffling off to get two glasses for them.

“Jackson?! But, he’s a douche.”  Stiles exclaimed only to be met with a lopsided grin.

“Sometimes sure, but he _is_ a good striker and, when he’s not being a dick, is almost fun to hang out with.”

Stiles just shook his head, always surprised at how easily Scott saw the best in people.  Hell, he’d probably find something good to say about Matt Daehler.  Stripping the pillows of the bed and throwing them on the floor – from experience he knew that’d be where he’d end up anyway – he collapsed and made grabby hands for the large drink Scott poured him.

The first couple of drinks went down fast and in relative silence, both boys thinking over the phone conversation.  By the time Scott poured the third, Stiles decided he need to slow down, not that his friend did, pouring his fourth almost before Stiles had taken a sip of his own.  “I was right, right?”  Scott asked.

“Wha?” Stiles licked his lips and tried again.  “What? About what?”

“The call?  He _was_ asking me to promise I wasn’t gay and there were no more guys, right?”

Stiles lay back and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah… yeah, you were right.  You should have done it man, there _are_ no more guys, right? And it’s not like you really are gay?”

“That’s not the point.” Scott sounded angry, properly angry and Stiles went up on one elbow to check it wasn’t at him, which it wasn’t.  “I shouldn’t have to bro.  What kind of message is that?  Somewhere out there is a kid, like you were, eleven, twelve years old who is an awesome footballer-“

“So not exactly like me then?” Stiles grumbled and lay back down only to be smacked in the face with a pillow.  Barking a surprised laugh he grabbed it and threw it back at Scott who caught it and put it back in his lap.

“Shut up, you’re amazing.  You _are_.” He insisted as Stiles started to protest. “Anyway, this kid is out there and figuring out he’s gay and there’s me, rumours flying and he can be like, ‘What if he is? Can I be?’ and if I go out and say there’s no way I’m gay and it’s all lies then that guy is crushed again.  Like you’ve been.  I’m not doing it Stiles.  There’s nothing wrong with being gay and nothing wrong with being a gay footballer, if people think I am, fine, I don’t care.  I’m not saying I’m not.” He lay back, shoulder to shoulder with Stiles who turned his head to look at his friend.

“You’re pretty awesome sometimes you know?” He said quietly.

“I’m pretty awesome all of the time.” He had his eyes closed but he still smiled, knowing his friend was looking.

Stiles laughed once, “Yeah. I love you man.” 

“Gay.” Scott said, smile widening, though he slipped his hand in his friends and laced their fingers, squeezing a little.  It was nice.  Stiles had had to examine his and Scott’s friendship quite a lot when he was figuring out he was gay but eventually he just realised that, although they weren’t technically related, they might as well be; they were brothers.  There was no sexy feeling there, just love. They lay that way for a while until Scott sat back up, letting go of his friend. “I need another.” He said, reaching for the bottle.  Stiles watched him pour and down another drink, watched him try to paper over the pain of the phone call and felt nothing but overwhelmingly admiration, concern and love for his friend.

Not love like he hoped one day to feel with someone like Danny, but pure, brotherly ends-of-the-world love.  Once more, Stiles stomach felt like lead and it was nothing to do with the alcohol.  He understood why Scott was doing what he was doing, loved him for it, but, he shouldn’t have to fight that battle.  He knew that if he said that though, his friend would insist that he did.  He felt as Stiles did, that what happened to one, happened to both.  If it was important to Stiles it was important to Scott.

Sighing, trying to think through his mini-drunken fug Stiles shook his head and downed his drink, coughing at the burn.  Scott filled his glass again, once more refilling his own and moved to his tablet, hitting some buttons and bringing up an upbeat pop song that he knew Stiles liked to dance around to.

Groaning and shaking his head more, Stiles tried to protest but Scott was having none of it.  He pulled his friend up of the floor and started bouncing around in a weird approximation of dancing.  Within seconds, Stiles was laughing and joining in. 

That song led to another, and another, and another and with each song were more drinks.  Somewhere through the Alphabeat marathon they’d crashed into each other and ended up blaming the other for it.  This was quickly followed by a pillow fight, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since they were thirteen.  Just like then, Scott could have overpowered his friend at any time, but didn’t, he just let them play and laugh.

As the liquid in the bottle went down, so did the music, through their favourite songs which they just listened too, talking about how much they loved the words, down into maudlin, melancholy singers, letting their voices float around the room with their thoughts.

Stiles had been right and they’d ended up on the floor again, duvet off the bed and curled up around pillows facing each other. 

“I’m talking about boys.” Stiles slurred.  “I love boys.  Especially tall boys, with big shoulders and hands and who make suits.”

“Like Danny?”

“Yeah! Exactly… Hey, how’d you know I was talking about – about – what was I talking about? Hey, you’re not happy, take a drink.”

“I don’t want any more.” Scott said, swaying a little, but still with a pained look on his face.

“You’re not drunk?”

“I’m not anything.”

“Bro…”

“You’re wasted.” Scott said with a smile and ruffled his friend’s hair.

“I don’t want you to miss out.” Stiles admitted in a pause between songs. They’d put on the Emili Sande album and were half listening to her soothing voice.  

“I’m not missing out, I’m drunk, I’m just not wasted.” Scott smiled again, missing the meaning behind Stiles words.

“No… I don’t want you to miss out on playing football, on playing for England.” Scott nodded but didn’t say anything.  He clearly knew that what Stiles said was true, but wasn’t going to offer the way to fix it.

The song changed to the last on the album; one that Stiles liked, but hadn’t really listened too.  It was too slow, too sombre for his usual frenetic mood.  But, lying there, shoulder to shoulder with his best friend, head swirling a little and fatigue settling in, he listened.

 _You've got the words to change a Nation_  
but you're biting your tongue  
You've spent a life time stuck in silence  
afraid that you'll say something wrong  
If no one ever hears it how we gonna learn your song

And, just like that, Stiles was crying.  Tears started to flow from the corners of his eyes and he had to force himself to try to take normal breaths.  It just hit him; he was biting his tongue.  Every time something happened – equal marriage, Tom Daley and Robbie Rogers coming out, Russia’s insane laws – which he wanted to comment on, he didn’t.  He didn’t say what he felt - what was in his heart - because he was too scared that someone would say something, accuse him of something.

But what was there to be ashamed of? Danny? Who was one of the best people he knew.  Isaac? A boy who had shown them nothing but kindness. Caitlyn and Emily? A couple so happy and devoted it was beyond adorable. Himself?

In the past, that was always where Stiles fell down.  He never had any role models to look to, only had one footballer who had come out and been hounded to death.  He’d been, in his head, the only gay footballer – ever.  Then he’d had his whatever-it-was with Him.  A relationship shamefully tucked away, hidden deep in the closet and never fully realised.

So, yes.  He had spent a lifetime stuck in silence, scared of saying something wrong – scared of being found out.  But his silence had started to affect more than just him; Scott was suffering too.  And shouldn’t _that_ be unacceptable?

But did he have anything worth saying? When at Fulham he had told himself that no one would be interested if he did try and say something about being gay.  Even when Robbie Rogers came out it didn’t have a big impact as he wasn’t playing when he did.  Sure, he’d started playing again in America but that was far enough away, and far enough from the Premier League, it hadn’t really changed anything.

But with Hale’s slip up on Jonathon Ross, the world had sat up and taken interest.  There was a _need_ to discuss the prospect of a gay player.  But... he wasn’t letting it happen.  He had a story to tell.  He could talk about being closeted, scared, alone. But he could also talk about acceptance from his amazing dad, the support of his best friend and finding romance with a boy.  Wasn’t that a song worth singing?

_So come on, come on  
Come on, come on_

_You've got a heart as loud as lions_  
So why let your voice be tamed  
Maybe we're a little different  
there's no need to be ashamed  
You've got the light to fight the shadows  
so stop hiding it away

_Come on, Come on_

Stiles broke complete on the line: _there’s no need to be ashamed._ A large sob shook him and Scott was instantly up on an elbow, looking down at him, concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles could nothing but shake his head.  The verse seemed to sum him up completely.  His mum used to say he had the heart of a lion, back when she’d become sick.  But, he’d let it be tamed, caged even, hidden away for being a little different.  He’d been so ashamed for so long and suddenly he thought of what his Mum would say.

She’d be so happy for him playing in the Premier League, but she’d be so much happier with Danny.  She’d have _loved_ Danny.  But... she’d look at him, with that head tilt, a little confused, just wanting to know why he thought he had to hide.  _Where’s your light, Genim?_ He missed her voice.  He missed being held by her, being safe and whole.  He’d hidden away from so much, he’d lost himself.  Lost his way.

As another sob shook him, Scott scooped him up into his arms and held him, rocking back and forth and rubbing circles into his back.  It was almost familiar, Scott had done it numerous times after Stiles’ mum had died, Stiles had even done it for Scott once, just once, when his asshole dad left.

 _I wanna sing, I wanna shout_  
I wanna scream till  
the words dry out  
so put it in all of the papers,  
I'm not afraid  
they can read all about it,  
read all about it, it oh

Stiles _wanted_ to scream, _wanted_  to shout, _wanted_ to scream until the words dried out.  He spent so long not saying all the things he should that they felt like they were going to explode out of him.  He wanted to get up and run through Old Trafford telling all of them, yelling to the rooftops.  He wanted it in the papers. Wanted the boy Scott described earlier to read it, to see a gay footballer, loved and supported and _know_ that he could do it too one day.

Scott held him as he cried out all his bitterness, all his shame, all his fear.  A small part of his brain remembered he was supposed to be helping Scott, but, he also knew that his best friend was happier when he could be helping others so wouldn’t mind holding him as he cried. As the song played on, his tears just multiplied.

 _At night we're waking up the neighbours_  
while we sing away the blues  
making sure that we're remembered  
‘cause we all matter too  
if the truth has been forbidden  
then we're breaking all the rules

_So come on, come on  
Come on, come on,_

_Let’s get the TV and the radio_  
to play our tune again  
its 'bout time we got some airplay of our version of events  
there's no need to be afraid  
I will sing with you my friend

Stiles hiccup to end of his tears, desperate to get the words out: “We need to tell people our version of events, I need to Scott.”

His friend hugged him tighter, pulling him up into his lap.  “No Stiles, I’m OK, I’ll be OK, you don’t have to do it for me.”

Stiles spoke over the song as it repeated an earlier verse which first broke him:

 _I wanna sing, I wanna shout_  
I wanna scream till the words dry out  
so put it in all of the papers,  
I'm not afraid  
they can read all about it  
read all about it  
  


“I’m not. I’m doing it for me.  This song is me.  I want to tell people. I’m gay and I’m not ashamed.” He choked slightly on the words, but having said it out loud, everything seemed to shift.  He was going to do it, he was going to come out.  Sure, he was drunk and sure, he was tired but he _meant_ this. 

It had built up slowly.  First, getting signed to Manchester.  Then meeting Danny and Isaac.  Making friends.  Derek’s acceptance.  Then his slip and the rumours.  Scott and Isaac.  Dates with Danny.  Staying at Old Trafford. Tumblr. Twitter. Everything.

He was ready, finally ready to tell everyone.

 _Yeah we're all wonderful, wonderful people_  
so when did we all get so fearful?  
Now we're finally finding our voices  
so take a chance, come help me sing this  
Yes we're all wonderful, wonderful people  
so when did we all get so fearful?  
and now we're finally finding our voices  
just take a chance, come help me sing this

As the tears stopped he sat up and saw his friend had been crying too.  Gently Stiles reached up and swiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb.  Scott chuckled and hugged his friend again: “You are a wonderful person, you know that right?”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Stiles said with a laugh and suddenly they were both giggling; drunkenly laughing at each other.

“Are you sure?” Scott’s face was open and sincere.

“Yeah.” Stiles looked his best friend and smiled. “Yeah.  For you, so you don’t have to deal with this shit anymore but for me too.  I want to do it.  I want people to know I’m gay and not afraid.  I want to play and play openly.” He paused and for a moment and his insecurity flashed back.  “Will you help?”

“Of course,” Scott agreed immediately.  “Every step of the way.” 

 _I wanna sing, I wanna shout_  
I wanna scream till the words dry out  
so put it in all of the papers,  
I'm not afraid  
they can read all about it  
read all about it  
oooh-oh-oh  
oh-oh-oh  
oh-oooh  
oh-oh-oh  
oh-oh-oh  
oh-oooh

 _I wanna sing, I wanna shout_  
I wanna scream till the words dry out  
so put it in all of the papers,  
I'm not afraid  
they can read all about it  
read all about it  
oh.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK - So the song is Emeli Sande's Read all about it (part III) which is utterly amazing and seemed to fit this fic perfectly... Obviously I don't own the rights of anything, but I hope she wouldn't mind it being used...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	24. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up hungover.

The alarm took a long time to wake either of them the next morning.  Eventually the insistent beeping got through to whatever part of Stiles’ brain wasn’t completely pickled in Jack Daniels and he flailed an arm the direction of the noise.  Cracking his knuckles painfully off something not the alarm clock, he hissed and opened his eyes before groaning and quickly closing them again.  After much scrabbling around, Stiles finally found the alarm clock and brutally punched it off.

Collapsing back on the bed, he covered his eyes with one hand and used the other to shake Scott who was clinging to him in his sleep.  They both knew that Scott was a cuddler in bed and neither was embarrassed about it, but Stiles needed to pee and his friend was pinning him to the bed.  “Move Drunky.” He grumbled and squirmed out of his friend’s hold.

Peeling open just one eye, Stiles gingerly made his way to the bathroom, avoiding the worst of the carnage from the night before.  The room wasn’t trashed, per se, but there were pillows all over the place, a chair had been turned over and there was paper everywhere.  Ignoring the doodles and writing, Stiles stumbled into the bathroom, hissing in pain as the light came on and collapsing on the toilet seat – standing was far too much effort for him at that moment.

After splashing water on his face he started to feel a little more human.  Giving his reflection a cursory glance, taking in the hangover and wincing at how pale and shabby he looked, Stiles shuffled back through to the main room, taking in the mess a little more clearly.  “What’s with all the paper?” He asked, more to himself than anyone else.

“Sss da paan.” Scott mumbled into the pillow.

“Huh?” Stiles said, sitting on the edge of the bed and nudging his friends leg, trying to get him to shift. 

Scott shuffled sideways and turned his head, speaking again.  “It’s the plan.” He said a little clearer but didn’t seem to be in any mood to move any closer into consciousness.

“The... plan...?” Stiles tried wracking his hungover brain.  He thought about leaning down to pick some of the papers up but, considering the state of his head and his stomach, thought again.  Instead, he reached out with his foot and scrunched the nearest piece of paper in between his toes and carefully lifted his foot to where his hands could reach it. 

The page had Marin Morrell’s name in the middle surrounded by scrawls about newspapers, Louis, Derek, his father and lots of other things which made no sense to him in the cold light of day.  Nudging his friend again, he was granted a grunt and a half-hearted kick.  “Oi!  Why was I making a mind map about Ms Morrell.”

“Urgh.” Scott complained and rolled away from Stiles.

“Some friend you are.”

“Seep.” Scott mumbled and Stiles just shook his head before carefully sliding to the floor and collecting up a load more paper.  Stiles was slowly putting together exactly what the plan was when Scott piped up again from the bed.  “It’s your coming out plan. For coming out.”

Stiles’ face flushed and memories started to stumble back into his mind.  “Oh, God.” He murmured and Scott placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to.” He said, spinning to lie on his front, head hanging over the side of the bed by Stiles’ shoulder.  “We were very drunk... well... _you_ were...”  His eyes were still closed and, if his breath was anything to go by, very hungover.

“You were hammered too.” Stiles replied distractedly.  As he gathered up more paper, he remembered more and more.  “I’m coming out. I’m gay and I’m coming out.” He said, repeating it a bit louder.

“Not today you’re not.” Scott corrected and Stiles turned to frown at his friend, for all the good it did.  “You’ve a plan.”  At that, he rolled off the bed and made his own way to the bathroom.  Stiles was left sitting with all his papers, with no clue what they meant or which order they went in. 

When Scott re-emerged, he took pity on his friend and they sat together on the floor going back over the plan again, reminding Stiles about what he’d said. As each step was described, it seemed to light something in his mind and, within a few minutes, he’d fully remembered the previous night, though rather than bring comfort, it just made him feel more unwell.

“You don’t have to.” Scott said once more with a shrug.

Stiles thought before answering.  “No. I think I really do. So... what was step 1 again.”

“Papa Stilinksi.” Scott said with a smile and Stiles groaned.

“He’s going to know I’m hungover.” He complained and Scott chuckled.

“No he won’t.  I’m gonna grab a shower.” He said, hiking a thumb over his shoulder, back at the bathroom allowing Stiles time to get his phone and, checking it was late enough to call, tapped through to his dad’s number and dialled, swallowing his nervousness.

“Morning Dad!” He said brightly when it connected.

“You’re hungover.” His dad said dryly.

“How?! You know what... no... doesn’t matter.  How are you?”  Stiles tried.

“Fine, fine.  I’m surprised you’re up – after yesterday I thought you and Scott would be celebrating into the small hours?”

“Yeah, we did... but then we slept and now we’re up?”

“Are you at home?”

“Nah.  Old Trafford.  The flat is still reporter central...So... there’s something I want to run past you...”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles could picture his dad sitting down and steeling himself.  Which, all things considered, wasn’t overly fair.  He’d generally been a good son, he’d been in some scrapes sure, but, overall he’d always been home in the evenings and he worked hard and got his exams.  Hell, he’d the best results of any footballer, ever.  Surely that counted for something, he’d even – “Stiles!” His dad’s voice cut through his meandering thoughts.

“Sorry Pops.  Yeah... So... how would you feel about me... like, kinda ... coming out a bit.” He winced at the qualifier, but couldn’t help himself.

“Coming out a bit?!” The laughter in his voice was obvious and Stiles growled down the phone.  “What are you actually planning here, son?”

Stiles looked around at the paper and considered his answer.  “Well... Scott got a call from a guy in the England squad and, basically, if he were to make a public statement and promise he’s not gay he could probably get a chance to play for England.”

“Jesus.” His dad whispered.

“Yeah.  He’s not going to though.  He’d being all noble and... well... it just seems like the right time.”

“Ok... Wait... It’s not that Danny boy, is it?” His dad sounded ridiculously over-protective. “He’s not making you?”

“Danny?!” Stiles exclaimed, surprised, even laughing a little to show what a ridiculous idea that was, “No, God no.  I’ve not even mentioned this to him yet... I wanted to talk to you first.” He admitted.

“Oh.  Well... OK, then.  Wait, why did you want to talk to me?”

Stiles paused, thinking of the best way to voice his thoughts.  “Well... when I come out.  That’s going to be a big thing, I think and well... people will know and they’ll know you’re my dad and I don’t want you getting any... I dunno, stick?”

“Stiles, son, I have always been and will always be, no matter what, proud that you are my son.  If anyone from the station say anything I’ll be able to laugh them down in no time – my son, the Premiership footballer, the first to have the courage to come out as gay? I’ll be the happiest Dad on Earth.”  Stiles smiled.  While there was a small part of him that was worried whether his father would be ok about him coming out, it was nice to hear that he had his dad’s full support.  “So, when’s this all happening?”

“I don’t know.  We decided last night, I’m gonna talk to Danny next then Scott and I are going to talk to Louis and Derek and Marin and then... I have no idea.  I’ll let you know though?”

“Yeah, course.  Look, I’ll ask at work, see if I can some holiday days, maybe come up again.”

“You don’t have to do that Dad.”

“I know... but I want to.”

Stiles nodded, “OK.  Well, I’ll let you know when I know, yeah?”

“Yeah, oh, I’m gonna need you and Scott and whoever else to sign some things for the local kids if that’s OK?”

Stiles laughed, knowing that his dad will have already promised any number of things to the young boys and girls in the community.  He and Scott were always being roped into to helping out when they played for Fulham, he imagined it would only get worse now that he was playing at Man U, despite being so far away.

“Course pops, I’ll see what I can get.”

“Good lad.” There was a pause.  “You _do_ want to do this, right? It’s not just a guilt thing, right...?”

Stiles thought again, but, as ever with his dad, tried to answer honestly.  “Look, I’m not saying guilt over the shit Scott’s going through isn’t a part of it... but... It’s so much more than that.  I’ve got you, and Scott and friends and Danny and my captain knows and is cool so, personally, I’ve no worries.  So it’s kinda a why not?”

“Well...” His dad started, but Stiles talked over him.

“I know, I know! No one’s done it, everyone says that it’d be career suicide, that the fans wouldn’t support a gay player, but... Scott’s got nothing but support from Man U fans and he’s not even gay, they all just think he is and I know I’m not as good a player as he is, but... I dunno, I just think that I can do this, now.  Before... no way, but now...?

“There’s also something Scott said... about the eleven, twelve year old kid out there figuring out he’s gay, or bi, or whatever and he’s a footballer and there’s like no role models for him.  I remember that, I was him.  I can’t help but think... if there’d been a player out when I was that age, maybe I wouldn’t have had to deal with all that shit back then alone. Maybe I would have told you earlier.  Maybe I could have told Mum...”

He stopped, thinking back to those painful months as his Mum faded further away.   He’d just figured out he was crushing on one of the coaches from his youth team; a gorgeous young guy called Jordan who’d been on course for the Premiership himself before a crushing injury ended his dreams.  Instead he turned his attention to coaching.  After getting to know Stiles’ dad he ended up training for the police service, which gave a whole new set of fantasies for Stiles’ young, fertile mind.

“She’d have been very proud of you too, Genim.” His dad said his name with such care, such love, it brought tears to his eyes.  “She’d not have batted an eyelid at you being gay, you know that right? She loved you 100%.”

“I know.  I just... wish I’d got to tell her.” 

“I know, son, I know.”  They sat in silence for a while, thinking about the woman who was a constant whole in their lives.

“Anyway... I’m gonna call Danny...tell Isaac I say hi, is he OK?”

“I will son, yeah, he’s good, got a job interview that Allison’s mum sorted for him so he’s out already.  call me later, yeah? Love you.”

“Love you too.”  Stiles said and hung up.  Isaac had a job interview in London? Was he staying down there? Maybe Scott would know.  The door to the bathroom opened and Scott emerged from a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his waist.  Objectively, Stiles knew his friend was gorgeous and knew that there were many, many people who would kill to be sat where he was, but to Stiles? He was just Scott.  “Feeling human yet?”

“Oh my God, no.” Scott said with a grin.  “Slightly more awake though.”  He said and moved to the dresser to get his clothes.  Despite not being attracted to his friend, he still wasn’t about to watch him get dressed so, instead, went to have a shower of his own.

As the hot, hot water soothed away some of the aches and pains of his hangover, Stiles thought about what he was planning of doing.  He’d always had it in his mind that if he came out, his career would be over.  That it would be the end for him and he could never imagine what life would be like without football.  Now though, not only was he coming round to the fact that it _might not_ be the end of him playing, but also, even if he did crash out of football, his dad was taken care of and he had more than enough money to pay for university if he wanted to, or take some time out to think about what else he could do. 

He’d never imagined a career outside of football, but, maybe he could be happy as a teacher, like his mum had been, or a police officer, like his dad.  Or he could try and career and stay close to football, like a trainer, or a physiotherapist or even a commentator.  Snorting to himself though, he knew he’d miss the thrill of being on a pitch, thousands of voices cheering you on.  He _loved_ playing football and he didn’t want that to stop.

After getting clean and drying himself off, he leant against the counter and properly thought about whether he’d still play after coming out.  Louis still played Scott when clearly everyone thought he was gay, still gave him the chance to shine, to silence those voices saying that an out footballer couldn’t play top flight football.  But Scott was a better player than he was, the top goal scorer, he was just an unpredictable, quick midfielder with one amazingly lucky goal under his belt.

A quick tap on the door brought Stiles back to himself, especially as Scott’s hand appeared into the room holding fresh clothes for him to change into.  Thanking his friend, Stiles quickly got dressed, gave himself another glance in the mirror – slightly more human for sure – and headed back into Scott’s room, still unsure what he was going to say to Danny, to Louis, to Marin.

“Do you think the gaffer will still play me after I’m out?” Stiles asked to be met with one of the most over-the-top, dramatic eye-roll he’d ever seen.

“Bro, yes!  You are a great footballer.”  Stiles shrugged awkwardly.  “You are.  Look, you can hold your own in the premiership – even when I was in Scotland you still played with Fulham.”

“Yeah,” Stiles jumped in, “but not well and we were relegated.”

“That wasn’t on you! Sure, we play better together, we always have, but I saw your games, your crosses were great, you were all over the pitch and everyone agreed you were one to watch.   You need to start believing in yourself...” Scott finished, sitting next to his friend on the bed.

Shrugging again, Stiles found his deepest fears spilling out. “But... I’m only here, at Man U, because of you.  I feel like any minute, Louis is going to just go, ‘What was I thinking...’ and I’ll be let go, or put out on loan. I just-“  He cut off as Scott grabbed his shoulders and spun him round so they were face to face.

“Stiles, listen to yourself.  Louis van Gaal is one of the best football managers in the world, he has one of the best training and coaching teams ever built and a world-class squad of players.  He wouldn’t be playing you if he thought you weren’t at that level.  I know you doubt yourself, I do... but, honestly, you are fantastic.” Stiles blushed and tried to shrug again but Scott just gripped his shoulders harder.  “You _are_. And... I’ve no doubt, at all, that after you come out Louis will continue to play you.  I mean, come on man, I still need your crosses to smash the goals in... unless you miss and score yourself obviously...”

Stiles gave a little huff of a laugh but didn’t argue.  What Scott said made sense, but... he’d lived for so many years feeling that he was living a lie, that he didn’t really belong where he was, it was a hard sensation to shift.  “Yeah... maybe...” He said, knowing it wasn’t what his friend wanted to hear.

Rather than go on though, Scott just pulled him in for a long hug.  “Right... are you phoning Danny then?” He asked when he let go and Stiles nodded, “OK, well... are you OK with me telling Mum and Allison and Isaac, as per The Plan?” Scott asked, holding up the step-by-step guide they’d made the night before. It detailed who was to know when – essentially, Stiles didn’t want this to come as a surprise to the people he cared about so it went: Pops, Danny, Melissa, Allison, Isaac, Caitlyn and Emily.  Those were the people he considered family or friends, so needed to know first.  Then Marin, Louis and Derek, which would probably mean Braeden, Darren Fletcher and Ryan Giggs too, but Stiles was sure the Man United machine would keep a lid on things. 

After that would be the team.  A conversation that Stiles wasn’t looking forward to at all, but knew was important. Scott had said they should tell Jackson and Lydia before then too, but Stiles wasn’t convinced on that point – the other striker was just too annoying and conceited for Stiles.  They’d need to tell Bobby at some point after Marin, but he was sure he’d work in Stiles’ best interests and they were going to be insistent on the fact that he _was not_ to tell anyone at all without Stiles’ express say so, which he wouldn’t get until they worked out exactly how he was going to come out.  The last person he wanted to tell in advance was Felix, their old gaffer at Fulham; he owed a lot to that man and Stiles wanted him to know how grateful he was.

How exactly to come out was still up in the air.  Scott thought he should do it on youtube, like Tom Daley had done, but Stiles wasn’t really sure that was particularly him.  A press conference seemed too much, though he thought Marin might like it.  It was new territory for all of them and, in this, Stiles was open to ideas.

Nodding to Scott, trusting him to tell people about what was going on, Stiles went back to his own room for a little privacy.  He was oddly nervous as he waited for Danny to pick up the phone.  They’d only been on a couple of non-dates, really, and were only slightly boyfriends and this was a huge decision.  He was worried about how it might affect them, or even if Danny would want him to come out.

“Mmmmm... morning!” Danny said as he answered, sounding like he was stretching.

“Morning.”  Stiles replied, smiling, imagining his boyfriend rolling around on his bed.

“How you feeling? Hungover much?” The glee was evident in Danny’s voice and Stiles groaned.

“Oh my God, yes.  Did I annoy you much?” 

“Nah, you were funny and I’m glad you asked me... and thanks for giving me time to think about it, but if it’s what you want to do, then do it.”

“Huh?” Stiles asked, confused.

“Coming out? You texted me last night about how you and Scott were making The Plan, in capitals no less, but you wanted to talk to me about it first? Are you _not_ wanting to come out now?”

“What? No, I am... I just... I forgot I’d done that.”

“Well, you were a little bit on the side of hammered by then.”

“Sorry.” Stiles admitted and transferred the call to speaker so he could scroll though his text chats while still talking.  The conversation was all there – typos and poor spelling included. 

“It’s OK.  I get it... How’s Scott doing?”

“Erm, OK I think.  He’s upset, but I think... I dunno... this has sort of become a bigger picture moment for him.  Like, he’s fine not playing for England if he can be a role model for a kid like I was? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah... I think so.  Bet it kills not to play for England though... I mean... he played for the under 19s and scored all those goals against Germany.  Plus, they need a young striker up front... the guys they’ve tried so far have all been so lightweight.”  Stiles finished reading through their chat from the night before, all caught up, and then agreed with Danny.

“Yeah... I know.  I just can’t believe they’d be so backward thinking to not even give him a tryout, I mean... if he keeps on scoring like he is and they _don’t_ pick him, fans’ll go mad.”

“Mmmhmmm, your right.” They were both quiet for a moment.  “So... are you doing it? Coming out?”

“I think so, yeah.  I mean... I _do_ want to talk to you about it. About what it might mean.  I don’t want what happened to Isaac to happen to you, but the whole point of doing this is that we can go on non-non-dates.” Danny laughed and Stiles smiled. “I want to be able to go to dinner with you and have you be my date at events and things.”

“And I’ll get free tickets to hospitality seats right?”

“Sure, that too Chelsea-fan – though if you came to Old Trafford in a Chelsea top for that game I’m dumping you!”

“Well, maybe I’ll just go to the away end then.”

“Whatever... but... are you ready for being known as my boyfriend?” Stiles asked, nervous again.

“I’ve thought about it, honestly, and yes, I’m happy, delighted, to be known as your boyfriend.  I’ll be the most envied gay in the world, but I’ll cope.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.  I mean, once you come out, I’ll just be the add on.  Isaac got all the grief because it was all rumours and no-one knew what was going on.  With you, all the questions will be answered and I’ll just be the lucky guy who you’re dating.”

“But... you’ll still be in the papers, people will be all over you?”

“Maybe... maybe... but... that won’t be the worst thing in the world.  I’m a tailor, I run the family business, my parents are behind me 100%, I know a lot of people in Manchester, a lot of people on the gay scene, they’ll all have my back and I don’t mind being known as your boyfriend first, Danny second.”

“I’m not going to let that happen, you’re always Danny first to me.”

“To you, maybe, but...Look, don’t worry about me bae... though... it would be nice to see you sometime.  Especially now that I have the house to myself...”

“Oh yeah...” Stiles asked, blushing.

“Yeah...”  Before that train of thought could go any further, his phone gave a little beep alerting him to a new text message.  “What was that? Is your battery dying?”

Stiles checked before answering, “It’s Scott’s Mum, she’s sending her love and asking if there’s anything she can do to help.”

“Cool, what’s she like?” Danny asked and Stiles settled into a long and happy conversation with his boyfriend, occasionally interrupted by texts of support from Allison, Melissa, Isaac and his Dad.

So far, The Plan was going great.

 

*             *             *

 

Next up though, was Marin. 

When they called her office they were answered by Braeden who informed them at Marin was on a day off but could be in if it was important.

“No, no, it’ll wait.” Stiles said, feeling slightly relieved they had more time. However, Scott grabbed the phone off him before he could finish.

“If you wouldn’t mind, please, that would be great.” Scott said, quickly, skipping out of reach of his friend.

Braeden agreed and cleared the call, leaving Stiles to glare at his friend.

“It would have kept for a day you know.” He grumbled.

“Maybe, but it would have been a day when you’d have been all fidgety and tweaky and synaptic-misfirey and this way it gets it done and out of the way.”  Scott said with a smile.

“No backsies?” Stiles asked.

“No backsies.” Scott replied with a fist bump; something they always said when they were about to do something foolish, which happened more often than either would care to admit.

They waited about half an hour before slowly making their way round to Marin’s office.  They were met by Braeden who’d just made a fresh pot of coffee and who engaged them in conversation about the match the night before, skilfully making them feel at ease while they waited.

Marin Morrell turned up after less than a ten minute wait, looking as stoney-faced as she ever had, though she gave a small smile to her assistant when Braeden handed her a coffee.  Inhaling deeply before taking a sip, she led the two boys into her office, allowing the door to click shut behind her.

“What can I do for you two?” She asked, voice completely neutral. 

They’d agreed Stiles would do the talking, Scott only stepping in when, or if, Stiles needed him too.  “Well, there’s some... information... you’ve been left out of and some things you need to know.”  Marin raised one eyebrow indicating just how well she knew that fact. “Well... here it is.” Stiles’ stomach was in knots.  “Scott’s not gay... I am. I was the one Derek was talking about.”

Marin blinked a few times in quick succession before nodding slowly.  “I see.”

“Yeah. Well... Scott’s been getting a lot of flack and something happened last night which was so far beyond not OK there’s not even words,” Marin frowned slightly at Scott who kept his attention on his friend, “and... well... it needs to stop.  So... I want to... you know, come out...”

Marin did another double blink and then opened her mouth before closing it again.  She looked at them both, steepled her fingers and said, “I think you better start at the start.  Remember, the more I know the more I can help...” 

Stiles nodded, suspecting she’d say something like that. “Do you want Braeden to come in? She’s gonna have to be told soon enough anyway?”

Marin inclined her head, graciously. “Thank you.  We’ll need to schedule an appointment with Mr van Gaal too...?”

“I know...” Stiles nodded and smiled at Braeden when she came in, looking as blank as her boss.  “So... it all started the night of the launch party...”

 

*             *             *

 

The meeting with Marin had lasted for most of the morning, Stiles eventually relaying pretty much his entire life story and most of Scott’s too, right up to the previous night and the Emeli Sande song which had tipped the balance.  They’d kept back the threesome he’d had with Isaac and Allison and the details of Stiles’ relationship with Him, but pretty much everything else was out there, including the phone call from the England squad. 

Marin had had dozens of questions and when she’d finished, Braeden had asked several more, mainly about security, social media and Danny.  It became clear very early on that she would be their proverbial bodyguard and would be particularly protective of Stiles’ boyfriend, especially as he had the least official protection.

After lunch, they’d come up with a very workable plan, one that Stiles was even looking forward to in many ways. 

However, sitting at the front of the team meeting room, flanked by Scott and Derek, Louis standing beside the captain, he was anything but looking forward to the next few minutes. It had been decided that the evening before he came out, he’d tell the team and ask them to keep it to themselves for 24 hours.  Between Derek, Louis and Marin they thought that they’d be able to get them to do that.

After speaking to Marin, almost a week before, he’d spoken to Bobby, who’d pretended not to be surprised, but had been in constant contact since then.  He’d been begging Marin to let him approach some brands about sponsorship, but Stiles was insistent – they didn’t want the story leaking.

All week they’d been at training and stayed at Old Trafford, despite the camera crews and reporters generally moving on by the Tuesday, the story dropping away into the twittersphere and online sites and forums.  Isaac had gotten the job in London and was staying down there, but hadn’t been in the papers again and even the internet trolls were starting to forget about him. 

On the Thursday night they’d roped Braeden in on a conspiracy to get Danny into visit them which had led to a brilliant night with him, Scott and Stiles playing video games, watching TV and laughing followed by an even better time with just Danny and Stiles in his room.

It had felt wonderful finally falling asleep and waking up with his boyfriend again, not to mention everything else they’d got up to.

But there he was, on a Friday night, waiting for the rest of the team to come in so he could come out to them.  Jackson, Matt, Chris, Luke, Ander, all of them.  Derek knew already, obviously, and they’d told Darren Fletcher who’d reacted with a surprised nod but shook Stiles’ hand and told him it didn’t matter to him one bit.

That had been on the Wednesday, right after Louis had announced the squad for the upcoming away match against Queens Park Rangers; the fact the Scott and Stiles weren’t in the squad at all had raised a few eyebrows, though both Wayne Rooney and Jackson had looked decidedly pleased with the news.

All things considered, it had been decided that, owing to The Plan, neither of them would be 100% focused on the match on the day Stiles came out. Scott had made a semblance of an argument but quickly conceded.  Both Louis and Derek had pointed out that, even without Scott’s goals, Man U would be expected to beat Queen’s Park Rangers who weren’t expected to do well in the Premiership that year.

The Plan had come together pretty quickly, Marin was in her organisational element now that she had all the facts.  It was all set.  Saturday night, Stiles was coming out. 

First though, he had to face his teammates.  They filed in, singularly, in pairs and in groups, weary from a day’s training but curious too.  Jackson gave them a knowing smirk, but sat without saying anything.  Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes off the striker’s knowing, handsome face and he grit his teeth against the urge to say something sarcastic.

Far too quickly everyone was in the room, followed by Braeden and Marin who closed the door behind them and nodded to Louis, who stood.  “OK.  We have a short meeting, yes?  There is a thing which needs to be discussed, a small thing, but we need your help.” He sat and nodded to Stiles who wiped his hands on his trousers and stood, nervously looking to both Scott and Derek, both of whom gave him tight mouthed smiles.

“Er, right, hi.  I’ll try to keep this quick and let you get off. Basically, everyone here knows about the rumours about Scott and our friend Isaac and most of you believed them, but... Well... They aren’t true.” Which they weren’t; Scott wasn’t in a relationship with Isaac. “The rumours said he was gay, but he’s not. I am.”  He paused as a few players shuffled and a couple of them nudged each other, or shared looks.

“And... Tomorrow night, I’m going to be coming out, but I wanted to tell you all first.  You are my teammates.  Most of you I don’t know well, some of you I know better, but I’m asking all of you to respect the fact that Louis and Marin and I have a plan.  Outside my family and friends, you are the first to know.

“I hope that you all know this isn’t easy.  I’m basically terrified and I’m putting my...” he searched for the right words, “my future,  in your hands.  I’m not asking you to keep quiet forever, but, just for one day, if you have any questions, you can ask me, or Scott or Derek.”  Both the men mentioned nodded.  “Errrr, I guess that’s it.  I’m gay, coming out tomorrow, please... let us do it on our terms.”  He stopped and stood in silence of a few seconds.

“Well done, mate.” Jackson said, loudly. 

“Well done.” Darren Fletcher repeated.

“Nice one.” Chris Smalling said and applauded.  Then a few others joined.  And a few others.  Until the whole room was applauding, some a little reluctantly, but still joining in.  Stiles stood stunned, slack mouthed and for once, speechless.  Fortunately, Derek was on hand.

“Alright, alright.  That’s enough.” He said, letting the applause end before continuing.  “Hopefully you all feel as I do that, while surprising, maybe, who Stilinski falls in love with isn’t anywhere near as important as getting three points tomorrow.” He turned and gave Stiles a small smirk, one that made the younger man smile and huff a small laugh.  “Now, you’ve all been let in to a very private, special part of a young man’s journey.  I fully expect that you all respect that.  Let me make that clearer, if you don’t respect it I will lose all respect for you.” His gaze scanned the room, making eye contact with a great many players; players he no doubt wanted to intimidate into silence.

Louis spoke up again, “I too, will be most unpleased.  Should anyone wish to discuss this further, please, to speak to me is good.  But... I will be supporting Mr Stilinski and he has my full support.  Manchester United will be the first club in the Premiership to have a gay player and we won’t be the last.  We will be in the history books my friends, and I intend for the story to be a good one.  We will not tolerate anyone saying anything against our young friend.”

Having first the skipper, then the gaffer, back him up, and in such a forceful manner, meant a lot to Stiles.  It might actually keep the team all quiet until he could come out how he, how they, wanted to.

He’d just have to see what the next day would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading...
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	25. Response 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fans respond to a interesting match day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> Sorry it's been a while. I lost my pen drive which, not only had all my writing, but all my work... I've had a bit of a nightmare to be honest.
> 
> I'll try and get the next chapter up soon... It's the big one you've been waiting for...

BBC Sport: Football

Gossip Column:  Day of the Giant Killers!  All the top 8 teams (except Manchester City) lose in one shocking day!

For the full list of fixtures and results **click here**

How did your team fair today – catch up will all your team news on the **teams page**

 

In the Papers:

Weeked preview – an easy start for Manchester teams? **Sunday Times**

World Exclusive! We talk to a source within the Liverpool team about some surprises which may be in store. You don’t want to miss this… **Express**

McCall on the bench – trouble for the flamboyant striker? **The Sun**

Football Association and Premier League both quietly close homophobic abuse investigations -  **Guardian**

All this week’s news and predictions  -  **Sunday Mail**

 

Unless you are a Manchester City fan, today was full of surprises! Second week in and the table looking nothing like how it did last year.  Liverpool, Chelsea, Everton, Arsenal it could be argued were unlucky (though Liverpool gifted Stoke those two penalties) but Manchester United? What was going on there?

 

_18:00 ChrisForest_

Loathe as I am to, yet again, be talking about Manchester United (seriously I think ToffeeBlue might explode if I don’t have an Everton themed week one week) their performance in London has to be one of the worst 90 minutes of football we’ve seen from Man U in years! And… (sigh)… where was McCall and Stilinski? They weren’t even on the squad but reporters saw them board the team bus in Manchester?

_18:01 ChrisForest_

By the way, I’ve a bet with myself to see how long it is to see how long it is until someone brings up the rumours.  **Football** chat people – how did _your_ team do today?

_18:01 Redordead_

Your not wrong Chris and you know whos fault is was – Whittemore, what the fuck was he playing at going for balls that were clearly for Rooney.  He’s a disaster.  Get rid.  End of.

_18:02 ToffeeBlue_

Im used to it Chris! But yeah, happy for you not to focus on my Toffees today – shocking result.  Should have walked it… can’t wait for Match of the Day tonight though – Whittemore and Rooney running into each other and both failing to hit the ball!? Hilarious!

_18:02 ChrisForest_

Yeah, I think many non-Man U fans will be chuckling over that one!

_18:03 Sophie B_

I know! Whittemore was never that bad when he played for us at Chelsea.  Don’t know whats going on, hope McCall is back soon though... looks like Man U need him!

_18:03 Brian R_

I’m not even kidding now.  Rooney has to go.  The young players and Hale are the future of Man U not some washed up old timer who’s too arrogant to see that his time is DONE!

_18:05 ChrisForest_

Wow **Brian R** ... that was heartfelt!  But... Rooney _is_ still a world class striker, no?

 _18:05_ _Jake S_

I heard there’s something big going down at Man U.  Like major.

_18:07 Nathan B_

God, today was an embarrassment.  Seeing Rooney – past it – and whittemore – not as good as he thinks he is – up front while van Persie was on the bench for 75 minutes and McCall nowhere to be seen? Not a good day.

_18:08 Leo E_

Yeah, I heard some rumblings at Manchester too.  Tell you what is interesting... the tweets from Mata and de Gea which vanished as soon as they went up...

_18:08 ChrisForest_

I was surprised at van Persie being a sub too, official word is his recurring injury is playing up, but then... that’d mean McCall would be needed up front more, surely?

_18:09 Carol W_

Ohhhhh, **Leo E** , you have all the gossip!? What did they say!

_18:10 MikefromManchester_

Don’t know what Man U think they are doing up front.  Defence is strong, midfield good – Hale, Herrera and Stilinski all making a good impact but then... multiple world class strikers and they can’t seem to form a unit.  It’s getting bad now.

_18:11 Leo E_

Can’t remember exactly, something about big announcements or something.  Sure there was some screen grabs somewhere...

_18:12 Redordead_

I never thought I’d say this but Rooney needs to go.  If he doesn’t want to play in Hale’s side, he should go...

_18:13 ChrisForest_

**MikefromManchester** I completely agree... that was definitely the weak spot this week.

_18:14 Carol W_

Found them.  Yeah, those tweets were weird – ominous.  Maybe someone leaving...?

_18:16 Harry B_

Liverpool were an embarrassment too but something is up with McCall and Stilinkski I’m sure of it...

_18:17 Leo E_

Doubt it’s someone leaving – season just started... an announcement though? Stillinsky is McCall’s best friend, if he’s coming out, makes sense his bestie would be there...

_18:18 ChrisForest_

**_Harry B_** I think Liverpool were more unlucky than anything else.

_18:20 FlissC_

OoooH! It’d be cool if McCall was coming out...

_18:21 Sophie B_

That would be cool if it was him coming out, would be great to have such a high profile player come out.

_18:22 Leo E_

Might not be McCall like... both him _and_ Stilinski are out today... just saying...

_18:23 Carol W_

Seriously **Leo E**  you are like king of the gossip... spill!

_18:24 Leo E_

Don’t have any more sadly... we’ll just have to wait and see.

 _18:24_ _Fliss C_

You know what I did notice... no tweets today.  Normally, Man U and the players – especially Whitemore – normally tweet daily, sometimes a lot more on match day, today... nothing.

_18:25 ChrisForest_

Fine, I’ll play along... McCall, gossip, tweets... gay players etc... Actually I hope he does come out so I can get back to writing about football again... Fingers crossed I guess!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it...


	26. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has his big day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this up this weekend and it's 23:45 in the UK and I'm just done.
> 
> Only had one quick read through for errors so I apologise for any errors...

“Stiles! Will you, for the love of God, put that down...” Scott barked at his friend, “Marin will kill you if she thinks you’ve been commenting.” He ended with a mumble.

Stiles noticeably jumped in his seat and at least had the good grace to look sheepish, but didn’t put his phone away.  Instead he just swivelled his chair and bounced slightly, bringing his legs up to sit cross legged, facing his friend. 

They were in a brightly lit, small room, one wall a bank of mirrors covered in a variety of powders, brushes, creams and other assorted items only a certified make-up artist would recognise.  Said make-up artist was currently hiding a smile behind her hand as she also checked how Scott looked.  She tilted his head a little and then went back to fixing whatever she alone could see.

“But... but... but... they’re being really funny! I have to figure out a way to show this to Jackson – what was he even thinking going for that high ball, by the way? – plus they _totally_ noticed the whole twitter absence thing! I said, you know I said, I _said_ that it’d look weird if we went twitter-dark.”

“Don’t show Jackson anything!” Scott said and shifted uncomfortably.  “He’ll likely punch you and you’ll have to do this with a black eye!” They both frowned, for different reasons.  Stiles was thinking about what he was about to do, while Scott was, no doubt, thinking about how, had he been playing, there may have Manchester United goals.  He certainly wouldn’t have been any blunders like Rooney and Jackson’s.

Silence descended and Stiles went back to watching the commentary feed, occasionally snorting in amusement and fingers twitching; clearly itching to contribute.  His make-up had been done first and he had to keep remembering not to scratch or wipe his face.  “I totally think this Leo guy works in football.” He said into nothing.

“You also think he crushes on that Carol W too.” Scott murmured out of the corner of his mouth, trying not to breath into the stylist’s face.

“Oh I totally ship them!”

“You can’t ship two random real people you’ve never met just based on comments they make on a football gossip site.” He explained, sounding annoyingly condescending.

Stiles glared at his phone then mumbled, “Yeah I can,” before sliding off his seat and pacing around the back of the small room. 

“Almost done.” The stylist said kindly and Stiles nodded.  She worked for Manchester United, one of Marin’s many helpers, though neither of them had met her before that day.  She hadn’t asked any questions though, no doubt one of the reasons Marin had asked her to get them ready.  She hadn’t asked why they were in London, or why they were at the ITV television studio.

The make-up artists who Marin had ousted in order for her own stylist to get her footballers ready had asked plenty of questions though.  Not least of them being why they were being kicked out of their own studio.  Marin had said nothing and had glared fiercely at Stiles when he’d started to apologise.  So much so, in fact, he’d clamped his mouth shut mid sentence and not spoken again.

He checked his watch: 8:20pm – forty minutes.  He shook his head in disbelief. Despite all the secrecy, all the planning, he’d not actually believed they’d get even half as far into the Saturday before someone leaked what was happening; but there he was.

The ‘there’ he was thinking of, specifically, was the studios of ITV and, even more specifically, of the Johnathon Ross show.

In their first conversation with Marin, Stiles and Scott had both really liked the symmetry of coming out on the show that Derek had almost outed him on, though, initially, Marin had resisted arguing there’d be no way on Earth the story wouldn’t leak.

Nonetheless, Braedon contacted the producer and when speaking directly to him ensured a pledge of absolute discretion.  Even with less than an hour before the show started, only the producer, director, host and one assistant knew that a Manchester United player was coming out, live, on their show and only the producer and Jonathon Ross himself knew it was Stiles and not Scott.

They’d certainly been seen by enough people that someone, soon, surely would be leaking they were on the show that night, but the Twittersphere was quiet. Stiles checked his phone again, swiping through all of his open tabs but none of the hashtags or sites he was following had mentioned him, Scott or the Jonathon Ross show.

_This is actually happening._

“This might actually work.” Stiles whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Of course it will.  I was very clear.”  Marin said from the door. Stiles hadn’t even heard her come in, but there she was, leaning against the door and looking as relaxed and in control as she ever had, while he just felt like a bundle of nerves.

“Yeah, but… come on.” Stiles spread his arms and shrugged but Marin just smiled.

“There is someone who wishes to say hello, if that’s OK?  I truly think you’ll want to say yes.” Her smile was genuine and Stiles had come to trust her, to some extent at least.  He looked at Scott who shrugged but nodded.

“Sure thing.” He said and slipped his phone away, ready to meet whoever Marin was introducing them too.  However, what escaped from his mouth when their visitor arrived wasn’t the polite greeting he’d planned but a breathy “Holy shit!”

Emeli Sande laughed as she stepped forward and extended her hand from him to shake. “Hello to you too.” Her voice was had a lovely lilt to it and Stiles just nodded, wide eyed.  Sometimes, just sometimes he got completely star struck when meeting celebrities and clearly this was one of those times.  “Marin, finally, explained everything to me. Told me about you two listening to my song…?”

She ended the sentence as a question and, seeing his friend still dumbfounded and staring, Scott answered: “Yeah, it’s great, the song and you too, are great I mean.”

She laughed delightedly at how tongue tied Scott was, but turned her attention back to Stiles.  “I just wanted to say hello and that I’m really proud to be singing tonight and I’m behind you one hundred per cent.”

“You’re singing?!” Stiles gasped and looked wide eyed at Marin.

“Yes, I’m closing the show with ‘Read All About It’?”

“Oh great, now I’m sure to cry.” Stiles threw up his hands a slumped into a chair; one of his biggest worries was not being able to get out what he wanted to say and that he’d just sit there, crying. 

Emeli Sande glided over and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Stiles, it’ll be at the end of the show and I’m sure you’ll be fine.  I just wanted to say good luck and thank you, that my song meant so much to you and for it to be a part of this process, it’s…” She shook her head. “You’re going to inspire people tonight.” She said kindly.

“Said the woman who inspired millions and broke hearts singing Abide With Me at the Olympics.” Stiles said with a sardonic smile but Emeli just laughed.

“I probably felt about as nervous before that as you do now. You’ll be great.” She said and leant forward to hug him.  As Stiles embraced the world famous singer he caught Scott’s eye over her shoulder and grinned massively pointing at her and mouthing ‘Emeli Sandi!’ at him, to be met with an eye roll and a silent, ‘I know!’

With another smile at both boys, Emeli left and Stiles grinned at the door, then turned to Marin. “You never said she was going to be here.”  It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of surprise.

“No, it wasn’t certain until today, until I explained why.”

“That’s incredible.” He murmured, still processing the fact the woman who’d been instrumental in him deciding to come out had just hugged him.

“Yes. But good. And the producer wanted people to be on hand in case you… changed your mind…” Stiles gave her a look, indicating that he knew what she had been about to say before changing it.  They’d argued about whether or not coming out on live television was wise, given that they couldn’t edit or retake.  There was also the concern that they’d arrange it all and Stiles just wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

He was determined though.  Stiles knew that if he was live he’d just have to get on with it – with recordings he’d become obsessed about getting it right and wouldn’t come across right.  Live, for him, was the better choice.

They’d been sent through the agreed list of questions a couple of days before though Stiles had tried not to reread them too often.  He knew the gist of what was being asked, but wanted to be honest and speak from the heart – something he couldn’t do if he was giving fully scripted answers.  He was just happy he was being asked soft questions that he could talk around and around and that Marin had pushed certain topics out-of-bounds; namely Danny.

Stiles hadn’t decided whether he’d mention he had a boyfriend, even at that point with the interview looming.  He and Danny had discussed it and they’d agreed that even if Stiles did say he was seeing someone they wouldn’t say Danny’s name.  Sending another quick text to his boyfriend updating him on the still-not-been-sick-but-feel-like-i-might status, which was unchanged.  He didn’t have to wait long before he received another supportive message in return.

Danny was in Manchester with Mason, Caitlyn and Emily, all of whom had Twitter up – there own accounts and his -  all watching and all occasionally sending messages of support.  Stiles a balked slightly when Mason was mentioned, but Danny assured him that the younger boy could keep the secret and apparently he’d been feeling awful since Tucker had used the photo he’d taken to sell his fake story to the press.

Stiles had managed to get Marin to agree to let them have access to his Twitter account to reply to as many tweets as possible, report any that were abusive and generally be as friendly and helpful as possible.  Braeden still had access as well and would be monitoring what they did but four people could better manage it than one and it would free up Braeden to do the official press release as soon as he came out.

That had been scripted the day before and was far more formal and professional than Stiles had wanted, but as it was coming directly from Manchester United he couldn’t really complain.  It was loaded and sitting waiting to be sent to news outlets all over the world as soon as he said the words, “I’m gay.”

Another flush of fear and nausea swept through him and he leant forward, resting his head on his hands and breathing slowly.  He felt a strong hand rub circles on his back and smiled, knowing it was Scott. 

_This cannot be happening._

“Is there anything you’d like me to go over?” Marin asked and Stiles shrugged, but didn’t move, just closed his eyes and tried to calm down.  “Well, the show will start just after nine pm and Jonathon will do a little bit of a welcome chat then there’ll be the welcome to his guests.  That’ll be you two, Emeli Sande and Amal Fashanu,” Justin Fashanu’s niece had, for several years, been campaigning on behalf of her uncle – the only player for years to come out as gay. He’d known about Amal, had been delighted that she’d be with them so just tried to nod where he was. “After that,” Marin continued, “There’ll be an early break. This will give everyone four minutes to check make up and get ready, then you two will be called through to the front.  We’ve been very clear and-“ She cut off at a knock on the door.  All heads turned to Jonathon Ross, the host of the show, peeking his head round the door.

“Hi everyone, just wanted to say hello… can I?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly and waited for nods before coming into the small, crowded room.  “So, yeah, hi.  How you all doing?”

“Fine,” Scott said at the same time Stiles mumbled, “Ok, I guess.”

“Good, good.  Look, I’m just hrer to say… don’t worry, I’m not going to ambush you… or push you… I know what we agreed and I’m happy with that.  And…. Well… I think I just wanted to say… This is awesome, what you’re doing? Yeah…”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, managing to dredge up a smile.

“It’s OK.  Look, I just found out your Dad is here… would it be OK to give him a shout out? Maybe flash a camera on him?” He asked the question to both Stiles and Marin, but she waited for him to answer.

“I dunno… I guess… Can we ask him first?” He asked Marin who nodded and pulled out a phone to call Braeden who was with not only Tom, but Scott’s Mum, Louis van Gaal, Ryan Giggs and Darren Fletcher.  Derek was still in London too, but it was felt, given what happened last time, he’d be better off away from the studio.  Isaac and Allison had talked about coming too but, given the givens they’d decided it would be less gossip-worthy if they stayed away.

“Is there anything you wanted to ask, or I can get you…?” Jonathon asked, clearly trying to put them at ease.

“I don’t think so…” Stiles looked at Scott who shrugged.

“OK, well, I’ve spoken  to the producer and we’ve been given the go ahead to play with ad breaks so we’re gonna take an early break after we welcome you and that way we can go for a lot longer if you want to get through a large chunk of the interview before another, but if you want to take a break just raise your right hand and give me the nod and we’ll instantly cut to me and take a time out so if you’re feeling overwhelmed or just need time…?”

Stiles smiled at how rapidly the host spoke and how similar their conversational styles seemed to be.   “Just raise my hand.” He raised it, palm out, to the side of his head and Jonathon nodded.  “Gotcha, OK.” A tiny bit of his nerves faded knowing that he could, to some extent control when they could break, but also they had plenty of time to talk if needed.

“And you’re OK with me talking to Emeli about you making this decision listening to her song, yeah?” He asked and Stiles nodded again.

“Tom says that’s fine, but wants to check he’s not going to be brought up on the sofa, right?” Marin asked, phone still by her ear.

“No, no!” Jonathon shook his head and raised his hands. “I just thought it would be nice to show him supporting his son, maybe ask how he feels about his son coming out?” He addressed the question to Marin, but it was Stiles who flushed once more and whose stomach turned over again.

 _This is actually happening._ He blinked, trying to clear his head.

“Yes, you’re doing this and yes, you’ll be fine.” Scott whispered and Stiles genuinely laughed.  Nerves washed away in that instant as he realised that not only did Scott know him well enough to almost read his mind that, even if something did happen, he’d still have his best friend, and his Dad, and that was fine and good and enough.

“I’m doing this.” He said with a smile.  Quickly pulling out his phone he texted Danny to let him know that he was feeling a bit better and that he was so grateful he knew his boyfriend was there for him.  As he had his phone out, he checked his twitter tabs and, for the first time, saw his name and Scott’s.  “OK, we’re leaking.”

“Marin was instantly at his side, grabbing his hand and tilting the phone towards her.  Her dark eyes quickly scanned it, then she spoke into her phone. “Braeden.”

“On it.” Stiles heard Marin’s assistant’s voice through the phone and knew something was being done, if not what.  To be fair, though, all the tweet said was that he and Scott were at the Jonathon Ross studios and a big announcement was no doubt imminent. 

“This isn’t that bad.  So long as there’s nothing more… We expected a certain level of speculation, though, Scott, this will likely blow up the you and Isaac conversation again.” She said almost sounding genuinely apologetic.  Almost.

“That’s OK.  I know, he knew, he’s staying off-line tonight.” Isaac was, they knew, staying with a friend of Stiles’ Dad, one of his cop friends who Isaac had met one night when Tom had taken him for a drink.  He just wanted to be as far away from the story as possible but had assured Stiles he’d be watching and was fully behind him, as much as he could be.

“OK, well, I need to go get ready, best of luck.  Try and ignore the cameras and just talk to me, like you would anyone else. Or, if you need to, find your Dad and talk directly to him, he’ll be standing with your Manchester United people in direct line of sight, OK?” He waited for Stiles to nod and with a wave was gone.

“Marie.” Marin said, indicating Stiles who looked at himself in the mirror, not seeing anything wrong but the stylist quickly settled him into a chair and started applying new makeup and fixing his hair.  Stiles sighed, knowing there was nothing to do but sit and wait those his hands itched to be back on his phone.

“The tweet is being retweeted and your football gossip commentary site thing is all about how I’m coming out.” Scott gave a wry smile as he swiped through Stiles’ phone, doing for his friend what he couldn’t do for himself.

“So people know a footballer is coming out tonight…” Stiles said and nodded. Maybe it was a good thing. More people would be watching, more people would hear that he was happy and ready to be honest with the world about who he was.  Not that it mattered how many people watched live, he was in no doubt that it would be on YouTube within minutes and shared countless times.  Trying not to think too much about the future Stiles refocused on his friend.

“Yeah, but Twitter isn’t really running with it yet.  I imagine that’ll change when we’re announced as guests.” Normally the chat show would have a promo spot filmed with all the guests so people knew who’d be on, but Marin had vetoed it, so Jonathon Ross had filmed a short spot on his own just saying he had great show and people _wouldn’t_ want to miss it.

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, what shall we do tomorrow?”  Scott said with a smile, knowing what he was doing.

“Nothing strenuous.” Stiles replied with an eye roll.

“Well… mini-golf is always the first thing that springs to mind.”

“I was thinking about shopping. As per usual.” Stiles said, taking the bit Allison normally said.

Scott opened his mouth but Marin spoke before he could: “The Earth is _definitely_ doomed.” Both boys turned to look at her, slack-jawed in surprise.  “What!? I watched Buffy!... Though I’m not sure about how I feel graduating to taking the ‘Giles’ roll.” She grumbled defensively and went back to checking her phone.

Stiles grinned from ear to ear. “How did I not know this!? I love that show!” It was also the first show he’d got Scott into and the one they tended to quote from to cheer the other up.  Enacting the scene from the last episode had even become a sort of tradition when collapsing after a long day.  They’d even managed, well, Allison had managed, to get Chris Argent to know the Giles’ lines so it would flow better.  “What’s your favourite episode?!” Stiles demanded and Marin, sensing he needed to be distracted, allowed herself to be drawn into a geek out over the Buffyverse.

After what seemed like no time at all, there was another knock on the door and a production assistant appeared.  She had a headset with a microphone and a clip board, looking, to Stiles, the epitome of organised.  Smiling at his own ridiculously low standards of organised he allowed himself to be gathered up with everyone else and led out of the makeup room towards the studio.

_This is actually happening._

They walked in silence, Scott a solid presence at his shoulder and he could hear Marin tapping on her phone behind him.  Once more he itched to check his own phone, but resisted.  Knowing his luck he’d bump into something, or someone, and fall over tearing his suit or giving himself a black eye.

Marin gave his arm a supportive squeeze when she and Marie, the stylist, peeled off to meet up with the rest of the Manchester United team.  Watching her go, Stiles’ nerves kicked in again and he felt his toes curl at the thought for what was ahead of him.

“You don’t have to do this.” Scott said and Stiles gave him a look of derision. “What? You genuinely don’t.  van Gaal is here and could be interviewed, Emeli Sande and Amal Fashanu could be interviewed too, I’m sure there are other celebrities near enough to add in if they have to…”

“Thanks Scotty, but no.  I’ve got this. I want to.” He said and Scott gave a lop-sided smile.  Stiles glared at his friend as they started walking again.  He had the sneaking suspicion that Scott had only said that so Stiles would verbalise his desire to come out again.

“Dick.” He muttered and bumped shoulders with his best friend.

“Love you too.” Scott replied with a smile. 

The production assistant opened a door to a room with an oval coffee table and one large curved sofa, Emeli and Amal were already there, at one end and the boys were directed to the other.  “It doesn’t matter where you sit here, but …errr… Mr Stilinski, if you could sit nearer to Jonathon on the stage that would be great.” She ended with a smile. “There’s still and sparkling water here,” she indicated to the table, “and fruit.  The light will go on here,” she pointed to the large camera in the corner of the room, “a few seconds before we cut to you so watch out for that if you are eating.  Can I get you anything else?”

Both Stiles and Scott shook their heads and sat on the sofa smiling at the other guests.

“Well, this is very dramatic.” Amal said with a smile.  “I’ve not even been told what’s happening, though I think I want to guess… hopefully…?” She finished, talking directly to Scott.

Stiles and Emeli shared a small smile as Scott shook his head and said, “You can guess all you want, but I doubt you’ve got it…” He smiled and offered his hand to introduce them both.

“Well… OK… still, this is the most cloak and dagger operation I think I’ve ever seen!” She smiled.  “Is this why you both weren’t playing today?” They nodded though didn’t expand past that. 

Fortunately Emeli stepped in and asked Amal about what she’d been saying about London Fashion Week; Amal Fashanu, amongst other things was a designer and had an upcoming show at the prestigious event.

_This cannot be happening._

Stiles took a deep breath and tried to relax but found his thoughts too unsettled. _What if I say something stupid? What if I swear? No, it’s OK, it’s past nine, I’m allowed to swear.  Not that I will, Pops will kill me.  I hope Dad’s Ok… course he’s OK, Melissa’s there too.  Thank God Scott is here, is he OK?_

“Are you OK?” The question fell out of his mouth without though and his friend smiled.

“Yeah, I’ve got the easy part.  You?”  He asked and Stiles shrugged.

“I guess. I’ve never done this before so I’m not sure exactly how I should be feeling you know.”

“Yeah… I remember the first interview, like proper interview I did…” He started telling a story Stiles had heard a dozen times before but it gave at least a portion of his brain something else to try and think about for a while.

The same production assistant came back through to let them know the show was about to start.  Stiles turned his head toward the passageway leading to the stage.  He’d been aware of the noise of the audience before but, now he was concentrating on it, could hear the end of the warm up act interacting with the crowd, making them laugh, geeing them up.

Then they quietened down and Stiles had to use his imagination.  There’d be a production assistant talking to them, explaining the format of the show, dos and don’ts perhaps answering questions.  He heard a couple of smaller laughs, clearly the audience were ready and excited – he only wished he felt the same. 

Suddenly, he wished he was anywhere else, doing anything else than being there on that sofa.  His mouth went dry and he reached for the water.  Seeing his hand shaking, Scott quickly grabbed a bottle and poured his friend a glass.  As he was taking small sips, trying not to panic, the production assistant came back through and let them know the titles were running and they’d be on very soon.

“Holy shit.” Stiles whispered and Scott laughed.

_This is actually happening._

“Less of that.” He bumped his knee against his friend’s and quickly gave his shoulder a squeeze.  Amal was looking at them quizzically, though Emeli just smiled.

There was a massive round of applause from the studio and a monitor came on where they could watch what was happening out on the stage.  Jonathon Ross was smiling as he welcomed everyone then barrelled through some innocuous jokes about the weather, about politicians, about celebrities not on his show, then he was at his desk and about to introduce them.

The red light appeared on the camera and Stiles forced a smile onto his face, though he avoided looking at the screen – he didn’t want to see what he looked like.  Scott seemed relaxed and easy, as did the two other guests, even when the host’s voice spoke loudly and clearly through the speakers in their room. 

“So, our guests for the evening, multi-award winning internationally renowned singer, Emeli Sande.” He paused as the crowd applauded, some even given whoops of appreciation. “Looking great there, and you’ll be singing for us later?”

“That’s right,” Emeli spoke with a smile in her voice, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Fantastic, fantasic. And we also have presenter, commentator, journalist, blogger, foodie and, of course, fashion designer, Amal Fashanu. Good to see you again, Amal!”

“Thanks Jonathon, great to be here.” She smiled and gave an elegant head toss, hair cascading back over her shoulder.

“Not that I need to mention the fashion design, I mean, sartorially challenged as I am, even I can tell you look stunning, right?” The last was asked of the audience who all dutifully cheered and applauded.

“That’s very kind and you’re not that bad… a few dodgy shirts maybe, but, yeah.” Amal laughed and clapped her hands together when the host acted grievously hurt.

“Last but not least we have two of Manchester United’s new signing for the year, Scott McCall and … well… I’ve been reliably informed that I can’t pronounce his first name and to just call him Stiles, so Stiles Stilinski.” The round of applause that followed held less of the whooping and cheering than for the other guests and Stiles could imagine the confusion of some of the audience. 

They both said hello, Scott raising his hand for a wave while Stiles just gripped his glass in both hands, trying to hide how nervous he was.  Rather than talk to them, Jonathon Ross explained that they had quite the contingent of Manchester United in tonight and the red light turned off their camera and a shot of Louis, Ryan, Darren and Marin appeared, all smiling.

Stiles slumped like his strings had been cut.  The first hurdle had been cleared, but it felt like he’d run a marathon already.

_This cannot be happening._

“Are you OK?” Amal asked, leaning over and Stiles managed a weak smile and a nod.

“He’ll be fine.” Scott answered and the young woman looked at him like he was crazy.  “You _will_ be fine, bro.”

“Yeah.” Stiles murmured and raised the shaking glass to his lips.

“Oh my God, it’s you not him.” Amal said again, “You’re coming out, now, aren’t you.”

“Amal.” Emeli said, placing one hand on the other guests arm, quietening her.

“It’s OK.” Stiles said.  “Yes. Yeah, I am.” Again he felt better for acknowledging what he was about to do.  Amal looked at him for a long moment then her eyes filled with tears before turning hard and fierce.

“You fucking brilliant guy.  Fucking yes.” Stiles barked a laugh at how determined and forceful she sounded.  “Sorry… but… I’ve been waiting for this day for years.  Anyone gives you any shit, you let me know, right?!”

Still smiling, Stiles met her eyes, “Thanks, but I think Marin and Manchester United are there first.  Louis and Ryan have really had my back in this.”

“Wow.” Amal said, leaning forward. “An out player at Man U, and with the full backing… God, this is huge.”

“Yeah,” he fidgeted.  “We’ll see…”

“Friend, seriously, this is going to be the biggest story of the year, the decade!”  While he wanted to be enthused by her proclamation, Stiles found his nerves returning in full force.

“Let’s just get through the interview and then take it from there.” Scott said, one large hand resting on his friend’s shoulder, once again grounding him and bringing him back to himself.  What he’d have done without Scott there all day didn’t bear thinking about, but, once again, thanked his lucky stars for such a good friend.

“We’re on break.” The production assistant said and the show’s make up team quickly came in and touched up the make up on Scott and Stiles, ensuring they didn’t look shiny for the cameras.  _That means in a couple of minutes I’m gonna have to walk out there and sit on a sofa and tell everyone I’m gay._

Stiles’ mind seemed to split in two; one part went into full on denial mode the other wanted to just giggle with the absurdity of it all.

“We’re back in 5, 4…” The assistant held up three fingers, then two, then one and finally backed up to be standing against the wall again.

The monitor showed Jonathon behind his desk and Stiles listened to their intro, missing the red light when it came on, not that it mattered. “First up we have two of the shining stars of the new Manchester United team.  In case you don’t know them, here they are in action.” The monitor switched to highlights from their preseason games, showing all their goals. “ Stiles even managed to watch his goal without flinching.

 _This is_ actually _happening. Now._

“Please welcome my first guests, Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski.” There was a loud round of applause and Scott stood up, doing up the middle button of his jacket, but didn’t move as he waited for Stiles to stand, which he could do only slowly.  It felt he was moving through treacle.  While he was aware his legs were moving and following his friend along the short passageway out into the studio, Stiles almost felt like it wasn’t happening.

As they rounded the corner into the bright lights and increased volume of cheers, everything seemed to hit him at once.

 _This_ cannot _be happening._

Then he was sitting down on the sofa, Scott nudging him forward to sit nearer the host, something he’d forgotten, instinctively trying to hide behind his friend.

The applause died down but the ringing in Stiles’ ears didn’t seem to clear.  Blinking he wondered if he was about to faint.  _Ringing ears are a sign right? Melissa would know. Melissa_. He snapped his head up and looked straight ahead easily catching sight of his friend’s mother and more importantly, the man standing next to her.

His father.  Standing tall and straight and proud.  He met his son’s eyes and smiled, beamed, then placed both hands over his heart tapping his chest twice.  It was something they’d started to do when they wanted to show how much they missed Stiles’ mum.  It was something that said you are loved, unconditionally.  It was something that meant he could do this.

 _This_ is _happening._

“Stiles?” Jonathon was saying, slowly, carefully.

He looked round, blinking and surprised. “What?” He’d clearly missed something.

“Nothing Stiles, I was just saying hello and how great it is for you to be here.”  There was a ripple of laughter though the crowd and Stiles joined it.

“Sorry, yeah, I spaced a little.” Stiles looked back at his Dad who rolled his eyes but smiled fondly.  Stiles smiled back.  “M’bad. God did I just Katniss this interview?!” He said with a cheeky smile, one he knew made him look young and mischievous.

There was a ripple of laughter from anyone conversant in the Hunger Games. “That’s OK.  So, I know that some of you out there,” the host was looking back down the camera, talking to the audience at home. “would like me to grill these two about the Man U game today but, well, I don’t think that’d be fair considering they weren’t playing, so… sorry.” He shrugged in a completely unapologetic way before turning back to the two of them. “Now, I think most people will know you, Scott, especially given your recent goal scoring and the amount of speculation written about you in the newspapers, but Stiles, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”

It was the first soft question, an easy start into an easy interview.  Stiles rubbed his hands together and looked up at his dad, “OK, well… I’m a London lad originally.  Grew up with my Mum and Dad north of the river, always supported Fulham growing up.  Pops would take me any Saturday he could – he’s a community police officer so it wasn’t that often, but I loved it.  Started playing football in school, like most of us do, then followed my friend here into the Fulham youth team.”

“That’s right,” the host said, “most people don’t know this, but you two have been friends for years. In fact…” A picture came up on the large screen behind them of the two of them, no more than three years old, grinning wildly with chocolate all over their faces. The audience laughed and Scott chuckled beside him, shaking his head and pointing a finger at his Mum who’d clearly supplied the picture. 

“Yeah, yeah, our Mums were best friends so… raised together pretty much.”

“Do you want to talk about your Mum?” Jonathon asked, it was a question that Stiles had been sure was in the mix, but he’d asked for it to be asked that way as he was never sure how he’d feel about answering it.

He paused but nodded.  “Yeah.  She died when I was young, before my football really took off.  It was… hard.” There were a couple of soft, sympathetic moans from the crowd.  “but Pops was great and Scott’s mum always looked out for me, but yeah… I miss her every day.” Catching his dad’s eye again, Stiles stopped and nodded, sharing a look with his father that only they could understand.

“I can only imagine.” Jonathon said over a smattering of applause.  “Now… A few weeks ago something happened on this show which I know you’d like to talk about…?” He sat back. 

That was the lead in.  Stiles took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his trousers.  “Yeah.” His voice caught a little and he coughed, once, to clear it. “Yeah.  Derek Hale, our captain, he was one and told you that one of the players Manchester United had come out to him.  Well…”  He looked back to his dad for support, who nodded once.

Stiles opened his mouth to say the words but they were stuck.  He looked to Melissa, to Louis, to Darren, to Ryan, even to his Pops before looking back to Jonathon but he couldn’t say.  He’d only said it out loud a handful of times and never in the open, in front of strangers, in front of the world.  He couldn’t do it.  He opened his mouth again but his throat tightened and he physically couldn’t say the words.  He felt tears start to prick the backs of his eyes.  Not only could he not come out, but he was going too cry too.

Then he felt it.  A hand on his shoulder.  He looked round, not at the audience, but at Scott.  His best friend, his friend through everything.  For all his life, Scott had been there, always had a hand on his shoulder. Even as tiny children, Scott would be the one to hold him back, or push him forward, or lift him up.  A hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gay.” He said it to Scott quite quietly, then turned back to Jonathon and said it louder.  “I’m gay. Derek Hale was talking about me, I’m gay.” The host beamed a smile at him and took a breath to ask something but stopped as the first of the crowd responded.  With applause.  It swept like wildfire. 

Within seconds everyone was applauding, then some whoops, some people even started stamping their feet adding to a cacophony of approval.  Stiles scanned the mass of people wide-eyed, unable to make any detail then swung his attention back to his father who was applauding and cheering as wildly as anyone else.

In that moment, he knew he needed to speak to his dad so waited for Jonathon to look at him again before he raised his right hand and nodded once, deliberately. 

The host raised his hands and tried to quieten the crowd, but had to wait for quite a few seconds before he could be heard over them.  “OK, we’re going to take a very short break, but stay with us.   See you shortly.” He waited a couple more seconds before turning to Stiles and reaching out a hand to shake.  “Well done, well, well done!” He said as a producer shouted they had ninety seconds over the general hubbub of noise.

Stiles jumped up from the sofa and ran to his dad who hugged him very, very tightly.  Stiles was aware of pats on the back and people congratulating him, but all he could hear was his father’s voice telling him how proud he was, how loved he was and how much his mum would have loved to have been there.

Way too early though, his dad was releasing him and sending Stiles back to the sofa.  As he walked back the applause started again and Stiles ducked his head and waved in acknowledgement, not entirely sure what to do.  Scott was grinning at him and bumped his shoulder as he sat down.  “Nice one mate, told you it’d be great.”

“I feel like I’m about to collapse!” Stiles whispered, hiding his mouth with his hand and Scott laughed. 

“You’ll be fine, adrenaline will kick in again any second.”  Stiles looked at his friend sceptically but when Jonathon Ross welcomed them back and the audience started cheering again, he could feel his nerves and fatigue wash away and had to hold back a laugh.

“Alright, alright, shut up or I won’t be able to ask him any questions.”  The host laughed along with the audience and they eventually settled down.  “OK, right… I think we’d got about as far as you telling us you’re gay – ah!” Jonathon held up a finger and glared good-naturedly at the audience who’d started to applaud again only to stop and laugh.  Stiles smiled too, grinned really.  “As we were saying, you were watching the show your captain, Derek Hale was on, can you tell us about that?”

The question put them back on the path of questions they’d previously agreed.  “Yeah, yeah.  We’d just had a great game, Scott had scored an amazing goal.” He stopped as the audience applauded, still hyped up from his announcement.  “So we had some friends round to watch the highlights, but also you, the show, because Derek was on.”

“And you’d told your teammate a few days before, is that right?”

“Yeah, Scott and I had been talking, well, Scott had been telling me I should tell Derek and he kinda overheard and I just told him.  I’d met his uncles earlier in the night so knew he’d be OK with it, then… he came here, said what he said…”

“What was that like, for you?”

“For me? It was like a punch in the gut, you know?  I knew, we knew,” he gestured between him and Scott, “that he was talking about me but hadn’t mentioned my name, but it still felt like he had.  The friends we were with, two of them didn’t know, one did, so that’s when I told them.  They were brilliant, still good friends.  They were… Let’s see.” Stiles counted people off on his finger.  “I told Scott first, then Dad,” he left out Him, they’d never really talked about it so Stiles didn’t think He belonged on the list, “then Derek, then… a friend… so the two I’m talking about were five and six.”

“And now, everyone.”

“Yep.  Everyone.” He couldn’t help the small, slightly hysterical laugh that bubbled up, but refocused over yet another round of applause for the next question.

“So, you told Scott here and your dad first? How old were you then?”

“Scott… I was, thirteen?” He asked his friend who nodded and smiled. Stiles shared the grin, knowing the story he was about to tell. “I was making him watch Battlestar Galactica – he’s hopeless with movies and TV by the way – and he was on this big riff on whether Starbuck or Boomer was more attractive.  This is pre-Allison of course, after Allison appeared it was Allison twenty four seven.” He paused for a small laugh to ripple its way through the crowd.  “Anyway, he asked which one I thought was prettier and I think I said I didn’t know but maybe I liked the guys better anyway.”  There was a few ‘awwww’s from the crowd but Scott jumped in.

“Yeah, kinda… except what you actually said, was that you liked Apollo better, that he was ‘hot’.” Scott put the last word in air quotes and then grinned at his friend; a grin which widened when Stiles glared at him, slack jawed.  “What, bro? You bring up my crushes I’m bringing up yours!” He laughed along with the audience and the host and Stiles just shook his head.

“Anyway…” He gave Scott a final, humour-filled glare. “He just kind of shrugged and that was that.”

Jonathon turned slightly to Scott. “This wasn’t an issue for you at all, your best friend being gay?”

“No.” Scott said and smiled, shaking his head, not elaborating.

“OK, fair enough.” Jonathon turned his attention back to Stiles, “So then you told your dad.”

“Yeah… that was a couple of years later.  It wasn’t planned either… In fact, this is pretty much the only planned coming out I’ve done, other than the team obviously.”

The host smiled warmly, “Ok, I’ll get back to the theam in a second, but… your dad?”  He prompted Stiles back on track.

“Oh, right, yeah.  He’d been out late, and wasn’t back when I thought he’d be.  Now, that happens to everyone, but, I worry.” He said with a shrug.  “He’s a police officer and it was a Saturday night and… well… you hear stories… anything could happen, so when he’d be late I sometimes got a bit wound up.  This one night he wasn’t back til gone 3am and I was still up when he got in.” Stiles got a little lost in the memory, sought out his dad’s face again and focused on it. “He looked so tired.  I think I started having a go about being out late, you know, about not calling?” He asked everyone and no one. “But then he just held up a hand and stopped me.  He pulled me in for a hug, a long hug then went and made a cup of tea.”

“It was so weird, so I just let him be and eventually he started telling me about his night.  He’d been called to a house, a disturbance where some kid was beaten and bleeding in the front garden.  Turns out his dad had found out his son was gay and had really laid into him, you know? My dad had been at the hospital, getting this kid help and trying to sort out where he could stay then had to try and deal with the kid’s father…I can’t imagine…” Stiles shook his head, “Anyway, when he came home he told me a little of it, not much, but he kept saying he couldn’t understand how a father could behave that way, that having a child meant loving him unconditionally.  So I told him.”  Stiles smiled at the memory. His dad had been so surprised he’d dropped his tea, but he left that bit out.  “He didn’t care obviously, just wanted to make sure I was happy.” Another round of applause, this time much longer sounded for his Dad and Stiles watched a camera spin round to focus on where his father was standing.

“That’s Tom Stilinski there,” The applause grew and his dad acknowledged it with a wave, but quickly folded his arms again, clearly embarrassed.  “You must be very proud of your son right now, sir.” Jonathon said and his dad grinned at such a simple question.

“Super proud.” He said in a loud voice to another round of laughter and applause.

“Sounds like you had a very supportive father.” Jonathon said to Stiles who nodded.

“Yep, totally. He’s the best.  Also, I should mention, he stayed in touch with the kid, the guy, got him sorted, he’s doing good now. We’ve met once or twice at matches.  Hopefully he’s watching now.”

“He is!” His dad called from the side and Stiles smiled. 

“Fantastic,” the host said with a smile, “now, you mentioned you told your teammates, what was that like?”

Stiles smiled again.  “Yeah, last night.  It went really well I think.  I know some of them were surprised but everyone’s been really supportive, especially Darren over there and Jackson Whittemore.  He’s been good, in his own way.” Stiles smiled at the condition he had to put on that but it was true. “I think… because of what he got because of all the rumours, he knew what it felt like? Maybe? Anyway, yeah they’ve all been great, same with Ryan and Louis and everyone at Manchester United. They’ve all be great.”

They paused again for applause then Jonathon turned back to Scott. “Stiles mentioned the rumours and some of the reaction Jackson Whittemore got but you, Scott, got rather a rougher time of it.  What can you tell us about that?”

Scott sat up a little straighter.  “I can’t tell you much more than you know already.  A friend of a friend of ours got a picture of me and our friend Isaac and made up a story which a newspaper ran.  Though… let’s be honest, it’s not really a newspaper.” A hint of anger seeped into his voice. “It’s a rag and the people who wrote stories about me? Who hounded our friend? They’re certainly not journalists, I’d say they were barely even human.”

“Wow.” Jonathon said over the scattered applause and rumblings from the crowd.  The Sun was one of the most read newspapers in Britain and Scott wasn’t pulling his punches. “That’s… quite a statement.”

“It is.” He nodded. “But it’s true.  I know, for a fact, that I’ll never have anything to do with that paper, nor will anyone I know.  They ran complete lies because they knew it would sell copies without caring who they affected.  Our friend had to move cities, leave his friends and his job because of them and they’ve not offered a word of an apology.  Their behaviour is disgraceful.” This time the applause was more wide spread.

“It sounds like this has really upset you?” Jonathon asked and Scott nodded.

“Yes, it has.  What happened to Isaac wasn’t fair.  What they did led to two matches being shown on TV where homophobic chants could be heard. It didn’t bother me, I know who I am and what I am, but there will have been people, LGBT people, watching those matches who heard that and thought, ‘there’s no way I can come out in football’ and that’s unfair. And it’s wrong. But that rag of a paper helped that start, gave the idiots in the stands the ammo and that really upset me.”

This time the applause was long and loud and, for once, Stiles got to clap his hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“Well, I think that’s fairly clear.  Is there anything else you want to add?” He asked Scott who sat forward a little.

“Sure.  I’m super proud of my best friend here too.” He smiled as he used the words Tom had.  “He’s one of the best footballers, best friends and best people I’ve ever met and I’m happy to be sitting beside him today.” There was more applause as Stiles swayed slightly and they bumped shoulders.

“Now that, ladies and gentleman is a supportive friend right there.  So…” The host turned his attention back on Stiles, “You’ve come out to the people who know you best, why the need to do this too?”  He asked, gesticulating around the studio.

Stiles paused, collecting his thoughts. “For a lot of reasons.  One, for Scott, who’s been getting a lot of grief that he doesn’t deserve.” He quickly spoke over his friend. “I know, I know he says he doesn’t care, but… I was in those games, I heard those chants.  I’m not letting a friend go through that.”

“Are you, sorry to interrupt, are you worried about it happening to you now?”

This time Stiles didn’t need to think. “Absolutely.  I’m terrified of it.  But… you know what, if it happens it happens.  I’d like to think that football fans, real football fans, wouldn’t stand for someone shouting homophobia at a player and it’d be treated the same way racism is.  I’m also hoping that as I’m being open and honest, that it’s not a rumour? That it won’t be as bad.  Like… they’ll yelling ‘You’re gay!’ and I can be like… ‘Yeah? So?’  Scott couldn’t do that, he refused to deny it.”

“That’s because there’s nothing wrong with being gay. I’m not denying something I have no issue with.  If people wanted to think I was gay, didn’t bother me.” Scott interrupted.

“I know that bro, but… it wasn’t nice...what they yelled?” Stiles prompted and Scott shrugged. 

“I coped.”

“Yeah, you did.” Stiles said proudly.  “But he shouldn’t have had to.” Stiles said to Jonathon again.  “So that was one reason.  Another was just setting the story straight, if you’ll excuse the pun.  But… I think really… it’s because I can.” He paused and searched for the right words. “Look, I know I’m not the best player in the world, but I _am_ a Premier League footballer and I’m gay.  I’m sure I’m not the only one either, but I also have a supportive family, a supportive best friend and friends, even a very supportive boyfriend.” The last slipped out so easily that Stiles didn’t berate himself for bring up Danny. “I’ve literally never been in such a good place.  The only thing stopping me being happy is the fact my best friend is getting grief on the pitch from dumbass fans and... and I think this is a biggie.  I can’t go out on a date.”

There was a half wave of laughter as the audience reacted to the last comment; they clearly weren’t sure whether he was joking.  “A date?” The host asked with a smile.

“Yeah.” Stiles shrugged.  “Look,” he sat forward, “Scott can go on dates with Allison, Jackson Whittemore with Lydia Martin, any footballer can go out with their dates whenever they want, but... I can’t.  That’s not right.  I like the guy I’m with, I like him a lot and he’s brilliant.” Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he looked down the camera, directly at where he knew Danny was watching him.  “I want to take him on a date, not just sneak around.  He’s too good for that.” He was interrupted for another round of applause.

“Well, I don’t think anyone can argue against that.” Jonathon said with a smile.  “Can you tell us anything about your boyfriend?”

Stiles shook his head.  “Not right now... I don’t want the media circus dropping on him without talking to him first.”  He said with a smile.  “There was another thing though...  I’m coming out because... I can.  I’m not ashamed of being gay, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, I’m happy, a professional footballer and I’m gay.  That shouldn’t be an issue.” There was another round of applause which the host let run on longer than he had.

“Well, let’s hope that one day it won’t be.  But for today, I think we can all agree what you’ve done has been incredibly brave,” there was another round of applause during which Jonathon Ross put a finger to his ear, listening to his producer, “and... no doubt you’ll be receiving a lot of messages in the hours and days to come, but, here’s one we thought you might like to see.” He pointed to the large screen where an enlarged tweet appeared.

Stiles clapped his hands over his eyes and laughed while Scott chuckled next to his friend, shaking him, trying to get him to look up.  He peeked out from behind his hands and blushed.  The tweet was from Jamie Bamber, who played Apollo on Battlestar Galactica, it simply read: _Well done @SStilinksi I know Apollo would be proud and so am i, man u convert right here! I’ll be cheering you loud on Saturday #superproud_

“Oh my God!” He managed to laugh around his hands.

“Well, there you go. One of the many hundreds of messages of support flooding through Twitter and Manchester United right now.”

“Hundreds?!” Stiles asked, shocked.

The host nodded. “Yeah, hundreds. Though... it looks like you’ve been replying?”

“Oh that’s my friends back home... I gave them my login so they could reply if anyone wanted to say anything...”

“Well, I think they’re pretty overwhelmed right now... So, what’s next for you?” He asked, pulling Stiles back on track with their last agreed question.

“For me? Hopefully play next Saturday.  I’m a footballer first, above everything else.  That doesn’t mean I’m not going to be out and open, it just means that playing the best football I can for my team is my priority, so don’t expect me to be falling out of taxis in front of G.A.Y anytime soon.” The host and audience laughed at the prospect and Jonathon nodded for him to continue.  “Hopefully though, I’ll get to see my Dad a bit tomorrow, reply to some of those messages, then it’s back to Manchester on Monday for training.”

“And back to the boyfriend?”

Stiles smiled.  “Yeah back to him too...” He blinked, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “I’ll need to figure out a pretty good first official date-date, huh...? Where’s good and datey in Manchester?” He asked it as a genuine question but got a massive laugh from everyone around him.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of suggestions from fans old and new.  We’re going to take a short break and when we come back we’ll be chatting with Amal Fashanu and Emeli Sande about where they fit into this story, but, for now, please thank my guests, Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski!” He had to shout Stiles’ name over the roar of the crowd who rose to their feet in thunderous applause.

This time as Stiles scanned the crowd, he made out individual faces.  The old woman in the front row, a family behind her, a group of ladies to the side of them, a cheering boy – all dyed hair and enthusiasm – waving wildly, a sea of smiling faces, a gang of lads all applauding and cheering, though, like before, Stiles looked for his dad.

Tom Stilinski was smiling at his son like there was nothing in the world between them.  A smile which just said ‘I love you’.  This time it was Stiles who tapped his hands over his heart and his father nodded.

Turning to smile and wave at the crowd, Stiles soaked up as much of the happiness and applause as he could.  He would celebrate while he could... and see what tomorrow would bring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Phew, it was mammoth... hopefully the length and content made up for the wait...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	27. Response 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Live responses to Stiles coming out.

BBC Sport: Football

Gossip Column:  Day of the Giant Killers!  All the top 8 teams (except Manchester City) lose in one shocking day!

For the full list of fixtures and results **click here**

How did your team fair today – catch up will all your team news on the **teams page**

**_ 21:32 - Amendment: Genim Stilinksi’s shock announcement! Premiership has it’s first out gay player.  What does this mean for the sport? _ **

21:34 - Amendment: We still want to talk about the games at the weekend and Manchester City taking the early lead, but, let’s face it... The name on everyone’s lips tomorrow will be Genim, or as he prefers, Stiles Stilinksi.  We’ve been discussing for weeks whether the Premiership was ready for an out player and now we have one.

_21:04 Redordead_

Oh hey – McCall and Stilinski are on Jonathon Ross, like right now!

_21:05 ChrisForest_

So they are – remember other TV stations are available J

_21:05 LeoM_

Yep – definitely an announcement I say!

_21:05 FlissC_

Are they!? Oh this is going to be brilliant!

_21:06 CarolW_

That’s Amal Fashanu too! This must be a coming out?!

_21:06 JakeS_

I don’t care if they are coming out so long as they are both fit to play again next week!

_21:07 Brian R_

That’s not cool  - if they were fit to play they should have played! Don’t care if they are doing interviews later they should have been on today – could have put old man Rooney on the bench.

_21:08 ChrisForest_

For the record, I have no idea what’s happening – it _is_ sorta exciting though!

 _21:08_   _Peter P_

I knew something big was happening! Awwww... adverts?! Already!?

_21:11 LeoM_

Is it just me or does Stillinski look like he’s about to vomit?

_21:11 CarolW_

God they both look so young

_21:12 Nathan B_

Wow, if McCall is going to do this it’s going to be massive

_21:15 FlissC_

YES!

_21:15 Redordead_

Fucking hell! Thought it was McCall

_21:15 SallyP_

Aw! Good on him.

_21:15 BeckyK_

Brilliant!

_21:15 ChristianM_

Well that was a surprise!

_21:15 Chris Forest_

Well done Genim Stilinski.  A brave decision and I hope he’ll have the full support of all the Manchester United fans.

_21:16 LeoM_

Well, not exactly unsurprising but cool he’d coming out.

_21:16 Redordead_

Well... OK. But can we concentrate on football again now? Oh ... adverts again!?

_21:16 CarolW_

I’m so chuffed for him!

_21:16 BrianR_

Ok sure fine, whatever.  I dont even care, they should have been playing its not that big a deal.

_21:17 PeterP_

I just hope he knows what’s coming his way.

_21:18 FlissC_

I’m so happy for him! I hate adverts though...

_21:18 LeoM_

He’ll be needing a break – poor guy.  God imagine if McCall came out too!?

_21:18 CarolW_

This is so amazing! ha ha OMG I loved Apollo too – not only gay but good taste too!

_21:19 NathanB_

Wow. Too much detail! Fine if he wants to come out or whatever but i don’t need to know about all the crushes. They should ask him about football.

_21:19 BeckyK_

Ha! Too funny!

_21:20 Sally P_

Omg! 13! That story was so cute!

_21:20 ChristianM_

This is actually big though right? Like... no ones been a gay in football before?

_21:20 JakeS_

Stilinkski is a total geek! J

_21:20 ChrisForest_

So everyone – do you think this will impact his career? Will he player better? Worse? Will it be a ‘distraction’? What do you think the fans will be like?

_21:21 Toffeeblue_

HA! I knew you’d all be talking about this already! J

_21:21 LeoM_

Wow, Stilinski seems totally cool – has he ever been interviewed before? He’s just referenced Hunger Games and Battlestar... not your average player clearly! **ChristianM** i’m sure there’s been gay players before but none openly playing in the Premiership. 

_21:21 FlissC_

He’s SO adorable – I want to take him home! Does anyone know what happened to his Mum? Poor lad...Good on you McCall – thats how your supposed to react to your friend coming out!

_21:22 Peter P_

I still reckon McCall is coming out too – he’s looking way to gay just sitting there.

_21:22 BeckyK_

Haha! Brilliant.  “Did you have a problem with that?” “No.” –ACERS!

_21:22 ChristianM_

Well, I hope for his sake being out will improve his game – he’ll be under so much more scrutiny now.  Any mistake will be blamed on him being a gay.

_21:22 Toffeeblue_

I don’t know if it’ll make him play better – he’s pretty scrappy anyway, that’s his style.

_21:22 CarolW_

Maybe he’ll play better as he won’t be stressing about hiding anything.  We’ll see I guess...

_21:22 BrianR_

How is admitting liking guys gonna make him a better player!?  He needs to get better at passing to players other than McCall – some of his crosses have just gone nowhere...

_21:23 SallyP_

You’re missing the point! This is a Premiership player COMING OUT! That’s literally NEVER happened!

_21:24 ChrisForest_

What a lot of sportspeople have said after coming out is that they were putting so much effort into hiding a part of themselves that after they were freer to concentrate on their sport.  Time will tell I guess. 

_21:25 BeckyK_

BEST DAD EVER! #Superproud!

_21:25 ChristianM_

Nice one Dad. 

_21:25 SallyP_

Super proud! Love it!

_21:26 Toffeeblue_

Wow – cool dad and police man too! Guess no ones gonna be messing with him!

_21:26 LeoM_

Well done that man! Sounds like Stilinski has a lot of support...

_21:27 JakeS_

Who the fuck beats their kid for liking guys! What a dick.

_21:27 JoeyB_

Knew you’d all be creaming yourselfs over the gayboy! Hope your happy now.

_21:29 CarolW_

Holy shit! don’t sugar coat it McCall tell us what you really think! J

_21:29 PeterP_

I read the Sun – it’s a decent paper for sport – they just ran what they’d heard – he’s being a knob.

_21:29 LeoM_

Wow – don’t mess with McCall!

_21:30 FlissC_

I freaking LOVE Scott McCall!

_21:30 BeckyK_

Now that is something that’s needed to be said for years! Don’t think Jonathon Ross was expecting that! :-D

_21:30 BrianR_

Well ... he’s not making any friends over at The Sun huh!? how long before they go on the attack dya reckon!?

_21:30 SallyP_

YES! Fucking Rag and HA! #Superproud again!

_21:31 ChristianM_

Oh wow... thems fighting words.  It’s on – McCall vs the Sun! J

_21:31 Redordead_

Not cool – the Sun is awesome! He’s got a problem he should have spoken up! Get back to knocking them in McCall! Youre a footballer not a journalist!

_21:31 LeoM_

Good for him! The Sun *should* be ashamed.

_21:31 CarolW_

Oh great Joeys back... that raise the standard of conversation...

_21:32 PeterP_

Wow... just... wow!

_21:34 Toffeeblue_

This is actually pretty cool. 

_21:34 SallyP_

He’s so together! Id be in bits – total respect to Stilinski. They’re so right about those chants though... I hope he doesn’t get any bother.

_21:35 JakeS_

Has anyone else checked out his twitter? It’s blowing up! he’s replying though which is weird...

_21:36 LeoM_

Man U have put out their statement of support – it’s worth a read it’s really supportive! Oh! There’s a boyfriend too!

_21:36 Carol W_

So pleased that his teammates are behind him – explains those tweets earlier! Boyfriend! Yeay – was worried he was gonna be some celibate chaste guy... J Out and proud! Thataboy!

_21:37 ChristianM_

That’s a fair point actually... must suck not being able to go out...

_21:37 Toffeeblue_

Wonder who he’s dating – who else reckons its another player???!!!

_21:37 NathanB_

Ha! So that’s why he’s coming out – he’s got some guy whining in his ear about not being taken to premiers! Can’t call them WAGs now – BWAGS? lol! J

_21:37 BeckyK_

He’s so cute! I can’t wait to see his boyfriend they’re gonna be like a supercouple i can just tell!

_21:38 ChrisForest_

I’ve just tweeted him my support but I think it’ll get lost – especially after that one! J

_21:38 Toffeeblue!_

HAHAHAHAHA!

_21:38 CarolW_

WOOHOO APPOLLO!

_21:38 SallyP_

God I <3 Jamie Bamber so much!

_21:38 JoeyB_

Oh my god that’s the gayest thing eva. 

_21:38 PeterP_

That’s actually pretty funny!

_21:38 ChristianM_

Oh my god – hilarious!

_21:38 FlissC_

Stilinski/Bamber! A SHIP IS BORN!!! :-D

_21:40 CarolW_

Well – that explains the Twittering then! J

_21:40 JakeS_

Don’t think I’d let my missus take over my twitter! Trusting guy!

21:42 SallyP

AWWWW! He’s so cute! I’m sure Manchester has lots of datey places.

21:42 ChrisForest

Well... for all our weeks of speculation looks like that’s that... Stilinski is the player Hale was talking about.  He’s been playing well for Man U so far, let’s see what this does.   
  
Personally – ie. Not BBC official – I’m super proud of him and wish him the very best for the future.  What we saw today was bravery and will have made a huge difference to a lot of people.  Well done that man.  Well done.

21:43 LeoM

Here, here! Well said **ChrisForest**

21:43 CarolW

Here here!

21:43 FlissC

Completely agree – well done!

21:43 Redordead

Yeah, but can we please get back to football now!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been a while... I've been sick.. [cough cough] - SEE!?
> 
> I wasn't going to do a response chapter again so soon but ... it just sort of appeared... :-/
> 
> Ho hum...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	28. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of Stiles coming out.

Stiles sat in the green room for the rest of the show, existing in a numb, slightly blank bubble.  He knew he should be feeling euphoric or excited or _something_ but it all just felt quite surreal.  He’d come out.  On live TV. It was out there; everyone knew.

He watched Jonathon Ross talk to Amal Fashanu who made an impassioned speech about how fantastic he was, how brave, how inspirational.

A detached part of Stiles mind watched the show with pride while the rest of his brain scrambled around like a maniacal beast, desperately needing release.  He suspected he wanted nothing more than to run around, or collapse giggling on the floor, but he remained aware enough of himself and his surroundings that he sat on the green room sofa, next to Scott and smiled and waved appropriately when the camera was on him.

While, on the outside, he was calm, collected and smiling… inside? Inside he felt a churning sickening feeling that didn’t seem to be getting any better no matter how long he waited, or how much water he’d sipped.  Scott sat patiently at his side, talking for them both if they were directly asked a question.

After Emeli Sande was announced and went out to join Amal and the host, Stiles blinked, left alone with Scott once more. “I came out.” Stiles whispered, only thinking to check the camera was off after he’d said it, though thankfully it was.

“I know.” His friend said, swaying into him, bumping his shoulder.

“But… I actually did it…?” He asked, and Scott nodded, pride beaming out of him.  At was then the enormity of what Stiles had done sank in fully.  “I think I’m going to be sick.” He murmured and Scott hurriedly went to the door to get the assistant who was there in a second.

“Are you OK?” She asked, crouching in front of him.

“Sick.” Stiles managed to murmur and then he was ushered out of the room and across to the bright, stylish restroom where he hurried into the stall and retched into the bowl.   His stomach turned over but nothing came up; he’d not eaten all day and only drank sparingly.  He slumped against the cubicle wall and his shoulders shook with tears that escaped from his eyes.

Unsurprisingly, Scott slotted in next to him and threw an arm over his shoulders, drawing him in for a hug.  Stiles only accepted the affection for a moment before wiping his eyes and pulling himself back together.

“You OK bro?” Scott asked, clearly concerned.

“Yeah… just…” He searched for the right word. “Overwhelmed.”

“Yeah… we can hang out here until the end of the show if you want…”

Stiles considered it but also knew that they – Marin, Louis, Jonathon, his Dad, the world – would want to see him again before the end of the show; it would look weird if he was just gone.  “No… I shouldn’t vanish, might be thought of badly…”

“Stiles…” Scott said, pained.  “It doesn’t matter how things look… I just want you to be OK.”

Stiles chuckled a little.  OK seemed a million miles away at that point so he was determined to at least do things the best way he thought he could. “I’ll be fine.  That was a momentary stomach-blip.  I’m probably just hungry.  Hey, you reckon I can get curly fries tonight? I reckon outing myself to the world means we don’t have to follow the nutritionists meals for one night, right?”

“Oh my God, if you’re having curly fries, there’s no way I’m not having a pulled pork burrito!”

Stiles stood up and bushed off the marks on his knees from the bathroom floor. “There _is_ other food beyond Mexican you know?”

Scott laughed and joined his friend in heading back out.  “Says you and your addiction to curly fries.”

They were both smiling as they met the production assistant who’s panicked expression melted as soon as she saw them.  “Are you OK?” She asked Stiles who nodded.   She quickly assessed his appearance and waved to an ever-present makeup artist who immediately started powdering Stiles’ face.  No doubt the quick bathroom detour had made him somehow shiny again.

He closed his eyes and let the woman quickly and efficiently go about her work.  “Well done.” He heard her whisper with the last swipe of the powder brush.  Stiles’ eyes shot open in surprise and he caught the slightly embarrassed look on her face. 

“What?” He asked quickly.

“Tonight. Well done.” The make up artist must have been no more than five minutes older than them, young and slightly unsure of herself; she was looking down, cheeks red but continued.  “My little brother is gay, this will mean the world to him. I know you’ll get lots of people saying it but, well done, what you’ve done… it’ll mean a lot to a lot of people.” Stiles glanced over to Scott who, the sap, looked like he was watching the cutest puppy video ever.

“Have you got a phone?” Stiles asked and the girl, who nodded and produced her i-phone in it’s luminous green casing.  “Come on, you can have the first selfie with the ‘Gay Player’.” He said it with a smile but knew that’s how he’d be known from then on, for a while at least.

“Really?!” She asked, a hopeful smile spread over her face as she unlocked her phone and passed it to him.

“Sure, why not?!” Stiles asked and span the camera and stepped round next to her to snap the picture.  “Tweet me it and tag your brother yeah?” He said and she nodded before thanking him about a dozen times. 

“Sirs.” The production assistant said impatiently with the green room door open. 

“Oops, sorry.” The both hurried back through the door and onto the sofa in time to see Jonathon Ross finish up his interview with Emeli Sande. He’d clearly been told that they’d been out of the room for the interview as he didn’t ask them any questions, just thanked both Stiles and Scott for their time and he made them promise to stay in touch before he introduced the song Emeli would be singing to play them out. 

As the opening bars of that now familiar song started, Stiles felt his eyes prick with tears and shook his head ruefully, holding them back.  That lasted until Emeli started singing and his dad walked through the door of the green room.  Without even checking to see if the camera was off, he shot up and into his father’s arms, knocking him back a step into Louis van Gaal who laughed good-naturedly.

The rest of the song passed with Stiles being held in a one armed hug by his dad as he was, once again, congratulated by his family, teammates and Manchester Staff.  “We’ve told everyone that you are staying here for the after party,” Marin told him after everyone had a chance to hug him or shake his hand.  “But, your father thought you might like a night at home tonight.  We’ve arranged press for tomorrow at the hotel you are supposed to be staying at so the cameras and reporters will all be there not camped out at your fathers.”

“Only if you want, son.” Tom said, meaning it.

“No, yeah, that’s what I want.  Scott and Melissa too, yeah?” He clarified.

“Sure, whoever.” His dad said with a smile.

“Awesome.” He couldn’t remember the last time the four of them had sat and had dinner and chatted and laughed – he couldn’t wait.  “Want to invite Allison?” He asked Scott who frowned as he thought about it.

“Maybe, yeah, if that’s OK? If there’s no press, Isaac too maybe?” He asked and Stiles nodded – he could already picture Skyping with Danny to show him his old house so it’d be nice for his boyfriend to see his old flatmate too.

“Totally.” He said and turned his attention back to the screen where Emeli was masterfully singing the final lines of the song. 

It had actually happened.

Sure there were bits he could have been clearer on, bits he’d say differently, but overall he thought it had gone well and, he knew, they’d be plenty more interviews where he could explain more if he needed too.

Emeli stopped singing and the audiences applause sounded around the studio.  “It’s customary for the guests to all go back out on stage after the show…” The assistant offered nervously.

“Oh, OK.” Stiles said stepping towards the passageway before pausing and turning back, “can everyone come?” He looked towards his father who rolled his eyes and shook his head but the assistant was already nodding. 

Marin and Braeden hung back but Stiles led them all out to an audience who exploded into even louder applause, all of them quickly rising to their feet.  A few stepped into the aisles clearly about to try and approach them on stage but the crew security, which had been an invisible presence until then suddenly appeared and kept everyone back.

Stiles smiled and waved, confident that this was the happiest he’d ever been in his entire life.  At that thought his giddiness spilled over and he started laughing.  Sure it was slightly hysterical, but it was his, and honest and true.

 

*             *             *

 

Getting away from the studios and the after party wasn’t quite as easy as Marin had made it seem as it took them almost an hour to talk to Emeli, Amal, Jonathon, the producer, the director, the crew and about a dozen other random people who’d appeared from nowhere.  Eventually Darren Fletcher and let Stiles know he was going to cause a distraction and he should just ‘leg it’.

The vice-captain had called attention for a speech and Stiles had grabbed his dad, Scott and Melissa and hurried them through a side door in readiness to make their getaway.  Incredibly, though not unsurprisingly, Marin had been waiting for them on the other side of the door, tablet in hand and immediately had started walking them through the back corridors to a concealed exit.

While she walked and talked she was continuously tapping at the screen in her hands, no doubt in contact with numerous people, all co-ordinating the official responses to his coming out.  He was informed that Bobby already had a long list of endorsement meetings lined up and was going to be in Manchester on Monday morning for a conference with them all.  Stiles was informed he was expected to attend from eight am until nine when his training would begin and he’d be invited back for a visit at lunch to ensure they were heading in the right direction.  Despite being told he’d be consulted, he got the feeling he’d have very little say in what was going to be decided for him.

She’d put him and his family in a black Lexus with tinted windows and a promise of speaking the next day to update him on developments. As grateful as he was that Marin was dealing with all the press, the interview requests and random things surrounding his coming out, he was also really pleased to see the back of her, as uncharitable as that sounded.

He was just exhausted though. The week leading up to coming out had been beyond stressful and he’d barely slept the night before either coming out to the team, or the interview he’d just done.  Being in the back of a plush, quiet and comfortable car he just sank into the seats and closed his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep as the journey which would normally take almost an hour went by in seemingly less than five minutes.  Getting out of the car and into the crisp, chill night air snapped Stiles out of his sluggish sleepiness.  “Shit. I need to call Danny.” He said to no one in particular but Scott laughed and replied.

“Yeah, I said you’d call him when you woke up, even sent him a picture of you drooling onto the leather of the seats.” Stiles was about to protest that he wasn’t sleeping when Scott through him his phone and there he was; slumped awkwardly against the seatbelt, mouth agape, drool hanging in a thin line from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh.” Stiles said with a laugh and a glare.  “Oh, you are dead.” He ran around the car, chasing a laughing Scott into the street.

“Don’t run on the road!” Both Melissa and Tom barked in identical parental disapproval which only made Scott and Stiles laugh harder. 

“Just get in the house.” Stiles’ dad ordered.  As their car drove off, Allison appeared from her own car a couple of houses down.

“Have you quite done being childish?” She asked with a smile, raising one eyebrow in question.  In response, Scott swept her up in a hug and span her a few times.

“Nope, clearly not…” Stiles said as he followed his dad into the house, followed by his friends who were arm in arm.  “I’m going to go upstairs and phone Danny, OK?” He asked his dad who nodded and told Stiles to pass on his greetings.

“I’m going to go and get changed, can you I use your room?” Scott asked his friend who nodded with a shrug; he’d just use his father’s room to call his boyfriend.

Danny picked up almost instantly. “Hey babe, you woke up huh?”

“Urgh, I hate Scott, he’s such a jerk!” Stiles complained loudly with a laugh as his friend thumped a fist against the thin walls and yelled he’d heard that.

“No he’s not, he’s awesome! Best friend support on live TV _and_ sending blackmail material… he’s the best!” Danny laughed as Stiles spluttered about how awful he looked in the picture while his boyfriend reassured him he looked cute.  “So… you did it then, huh?”

Stiles collapsed back on his dad’s bed, stretching out and sighing, “Yeah.  It’s all done.  The world knows… sorry about the boyfriend thing, it just slipped out.”

“That’s OK, though the interwebs have exploded in speculation…”

“Urgh… Already!? Are you getting hassle?”

“Me?! Not even remotely, I don’t even follow you on Twitter.  Isaac is being suggested as a possibility, Scott, obviously, then it’s just crazy rumours – weirdest one being Gareth Bale , a few other celebrities and there’s a few people you’ve had pictures with over the years who are being suggested but most of them are denying it as soon as it is brought up and no one is saying that are your boyfriend.”

“God, crazy…” Stiles said quietly.  While he knew they’d be speculation, actually hearing about it just seemed bizarre.

“Yeah, totally.  The one that a lot of people are running with is Derek Hale, which is odd, huh?” Danny said and the question seemed bit more loaded than his tone suggested.

“Derek?! Yeah… completely!” Stiles said, ignoring the slight squirm in his gut at the mention of his captain and the thought of them together.  “Why him, he’s like, almost married to that cellist…?”

“People have gone back over his first interview and some people think he was about to come out himself that day… then…” Danny paused and Stiles held his breath. “There’s this picture of you both at training and he’s looking at you like… well… I don’t know, like you’re hot I guess…?”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. “Derek? Thinking _I’m_ hot? Right… sure… the guy can barely stand me!”

“Not from this picture.” Danny remarked dryly.  “It’s not important anyway… If you meant it about taking me on a date it’ll be pretty academic soon.” The statement was almost a question, at least enough of one that Stiles immediately had to reassure his boyfriend he meant what he’d said.

“Of course I meant it, you are like the hottest guy ever, ain’t no way I’m showing you off.”  Stiles heard a door click in the background and guessed Danny had left his friends and was now alone.

“I wish you were here.” Danny said quietly, voice deep and heavy.

“I wish you were here too.”

“Which would completely defeat the purpose of you being in Manchester if I was in London.”

“Jackass. You know what I mean.  Oh, hey, Isaac might be coming round soon – want to set up a Skype…?”

“You have Skype down there…? Good to know…” Stiles knew that tone of voice and knew instantly what his boyfriend was alluding too.  Blushing deeply he coughed and continued.

“Yeah, on my dad’s computer.  Scott and Melissa are here, and Allison and Isaac’s on his way over I think so yeah, lots of people.”

“Calm down Stiles!” Danny laughed, no doubt at how quickly Stiles had been talking and rightly deducing he was embarrassed about the thoughts of what they could do with Skype.  “Sounds like you’re going to have a fun night… We’re all still trawling through Twitter – you’ve had hundreds of tweets.”

“So I heard, you don’t have to… like, if you want to stop, it’s fine.”

“No way, this is fun!” Danny laughed.  “Most are from random people but you’ve had a lot of messages from celebrities and lots of really, I don’t know… heartfelt ones.  We’ve got a list of people you’ll maybe want to reach out to directly when you can.”

“Like who?”

“Well…  Ben Cohen and his StandUp Foundation, Diversity Role Models who do schools work, Stonewall, Attitude, Gay Times, Gareth Thomas, Tom Daley, Claire Balding – basically any out celebrity you can think of and a veritable shit-ton of young people and young footballers.”

“Wow… OK…” Stiles said slowly, trying to process.  “Sure.  I’ll need to talk to Marin and Bobby about the professional stuff but, yeah, make a list of anyone I should talk to and Danny? Thank you so much for doing all this, I couldn’t have done it without you man.”

His boyfriend chuckled, “That’s cool, I’m storing up all these boyfriend points for later use?”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles couldn’t help but smile, knowing where the conversation was heading and not caring at all.

“Holy shit!” Danny said loudly with a laugh.

“OK… not what I was expecting.” Stiles mumbled. “What’s up?”

“Erm… the Prime Minister just tweeted his support.”  Danny sounded equally as surprised as he did amused.

“Fuck, really?!”

“Yep, apparently ‘Very impressed by @SStilinski and his impassioned interview.  Very important day in football.  Glad to be PM for first out player.’

“Erm… OK…I’m not really sure what I want to do about that…”

“Yeah… we’ll just leave that one for now.  There’s a boatload of sportspeople tweeting support too, a lot of your Fulham guys, and Man U ones.  I’m also, like…” Danny paused, “You know.  It was great, what you did.”

“You’re trying not to say the word proud aren’t you.”

“It just sounds patronising! But… yes… proud of you.” He said, almost begrudgingly but Stiles could hear the smile in his tone.

“Thanks.  Look, I’ll call before I go to bed, but I should probably go spend time with Dad – you free tomorrow night though?”

“Of course!” Danny said and they arranged to meet up at Danny’s flat the following evening.  Smiling to himself, Stiles trotted happily back downstairs to find Isaac being warmly greeted by everyone.  Scott hung back slightly, giving a wave but a smile that was genuine and loaded. 

As taken in as he was with the domestic and loving scene in front of him, Stiles was surprised by strong arms pulling him into a hug.  “Congratulations.” The voice said, a voice which sent a spike of arousal through him and a blush quickly spread over his face.

“Jordan!?” Stiles said, voice breaking slightly. He stepped back to look at the man he’d had a crush on for years when he was a teenager. 

“That’s me.” Jordan smiled and Stiles had to swallow and look away, sure that his crush was obvious even though it was long dead and buried.

“What – I mean... what you doing here?” Stiles stole surreptitious glances as Jordan smiled and replied; he’d put on a lot of muscle since his days at the football club, then as a coach with the young squad. Back then he’d been lean and ripped, clearly being in the police force gave him time and freedom to bulk up.

“Your friend was at mine to watch your performance on national TV – little Stiles Stilinski, a national treasure.” Jordan wrapped an arm around Stiles’ neck and ruffled his hair, like he had when they were younger. 

“Hey, come on.” Stiles laughed and pushed the bigger guy off him, his body reacting to the feeling of hot, hard muscle under the thin t-shirt the man was wearing.

“Parrish!” Stiles’ father called and beckoned his friend over; he gave Stiles a final smile and left him alone confused and flushed.

Shaking his head a little, Stiles shared a smile with Scott who knew all about the crush Stiles used to have.  Before he could head over to his friend though, Isaac appeared at his side, looking a bizarre mix of happy and nervous. “Hey Isaac, how are you man?”  Stiles asked.

“Hi Stiles, good, I’m good. I was with Jordan watching you on TV, you were great. Jordan thought you were too. He was a coach? For you?” Isaac asked, looking over at the policeman as Stiles nodded. “Jordan told me about when he played, he sounded good, was he good?” Stiles nodded and smiled again. “Yeah, I thought he’d be, he’s nice, huh?” Isaac asked, finally seeming to come to an end.

“Yeah... he’s a good guy.” Stiles said, recognising a crush when he saw one.  It felt strange, knowing his friend was attracted to a guy he was too, or at least used to be. 

Isaac gave himself a little shake, seeming to come back to himself.  “Anyway.  Yeah, you OK?”

“I’m...” Stiles paused and thought about it for a moment.  “I’m really good.” And he was.  He was with his family and his friends and he’d come out and the world hadn’t ended. 

Part of him wanted to pause the world right at that moment; the moment when it was all perfect for the next day, and the day after that, he’d have to leave his little bubble and stand on a football pitch.  Alone.  In front of thousands and thousands of people.

But, at that moment, he was good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been forever and a day.
> 
> I'm just not getting the time to write anymore, which is good I suppose... 
> 
> I'll still be updating when I can for both this and Scarred, but I'll probably get both to a natural pause and pause for a bit.
> 
> Anyway. Thanks for reading!
> 
> G*


	29. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles heads back to Old Trafford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it's been forever...
> 
> See end notes for details.

The remainder of the evening spent with his family and friends seemed to fly by and, before he knew it, the sun was edging its way up over the horizon. Despite feeling exhausted, Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he collapsed onto his bed.  He tapped out a quick text to Danny, then paused before sending; when they’d Skyped a couple of hours earlier (in the living room with everyone else, so no boyfriend fun) Danny had signed off saying he was going to bed.  Stiles didn’t want to wake his boyfriend, but at the same time wanted to say goodnight.  With a mental shrug he pressed send and settled back onto his bed to wait for a reply.

Looking up at the blank ceiling he replayed some of the night back in his mind.  Not so much the interview, but the time spent laughing and joking with friends.  Allison and Scott seemed to be circling each other again in a way that everyone knew meant another stab at a relationship was coming, especially after it was clear that Isaac’s affections had shifted to Jordan who seemed neither oblivious nor upset by the attention.

Stiles was still working out how jealous he was over his friend apparently possibly entering into something with the guy he’d spent his teenage years sure he was in love with.  On the one hand he was happy that something good may have come from all this for Isaac - other than moving to London and getting a job on Saville Row obviously – on the other hand… it was with Jordan.  A guy so stupidly handsome it didn’t even seem fair.  That he was a lovely, stable and secure guy only added to how hot he was.

But then he remembered the boy back in Manchester.  A boy every bit as hot, just as lovely and seemingly actually interested in Stiles, which put him head and shoulders above everyone else. Checking his phone and finding no reply, Stiles quickly undressed and got into bed.  Not that he expected to sleep, he was too clearly too wired for that.  Yet, when his dad popped his head round the door a couple of minutes later to say goodnight he was greeted with the sight of his son wrapped around a pillow and snoring lightly.

 

*             *             *

 

By the time Stiles rolled out of bed and stumbled downstairs his father had cleaned up, made coffee and breakfast and was in freshly ironed clothes.  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the bedraggled nature of his son’s look.  “Morning.”  Tom said with a smile.

Stiles grunted a reply, collapsed into the sofa and made grabby hands at a cup of coffee sitting on the coffee table. When his dad didn’t move, Stiles did his best puppy dog look until his father caved and passed him his drink.  After taking a long gulp, Stiles felt able to ask: “So, what’s happening in the world today, any news?”

His dad laughed once and pointed to the stack of newspapers at the end of the table.  Stiles gave them a cursory look – it seemed like every Sunday paper was there – he knew he’d be in every one of them but didn’t really want to read about what they thought of him or his performance at interview.  As he drew his eyes away he saw his dad point to the television in the corner where it had been on mute.

It was set to BBC News and the headlines were just about to start.  Stiles hoped against hope that he wouldn’t be placed too highly on the list of news stories but that wish was dashed as his team photo appeared up on the screen with the tag line “Historic day for Premiership football”.  He tried not to groan as the news reporter started his story.

“Genim Stilinski has become the first active player in the English Premiership, or any English professional league to come out as a homosexual.” Stiles shuddered a little at the clinical use of the word and tried to block out the rest of the report.

“Has this been news all night?” He asked his dad as the television rehashed his interview from the night before.

“Yeah, pretty much from what I can gather. There’s a few messages on the answers machine from friends and family.” His Dad looked over at their phone and Stiles nodded but made no effort to move. “Bobby’s phoned four times this morning – apparently he’s had endorsement calls all night, including some big companies.” His father sounded both impressed and ruefully amused at the same time.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles asked, curious in spite of himself. “did he say who?”

“He wouldn’t tell me but he sounded pretty excited.”

“Bobby always sounds excited.” Stiles grumbled with a smile and downed his coffee before pouring himself another.

“Yeah, well, this was super excited.”  His dad smiled and sat back with a sigh.  “To be honest, _every one_ sounds super excited. There’s been a whole load of footballers interviewed and they’ve all been really supportive.” Stiles listened open mouthed as his dad started telling him about how his idols – Beckham, Owen, Scholes, Shearer, Gerrard, Ferdinand, Lampard, Thierry Henry – were tripping over themselves to say how great it was that a player had come out.  “Then there was Xavi Alonso.” His dad saying with grin, knowing how much Stiles idolised the Spanish Midfielder.

“Yeah?” Stiles asked sitting up and his dad, genuinely nervous.  His dad passed over their clunky old laptop which was open at a tab showing a tweet and the comment, in English: _Well done @SStilinski great player and a great role model_. Stiles read and reread it countless times before turning back to his father.  “He called me a great player!”

His father just nodded and informed Stiles he was going to make more coffee.  Left alone in the living room, Stiles finally was able to start looking at all the responses to his interview.  It only took his a couple of deep breaths to muster up his courage to pull up his twitter account and all the football sites he knew would have comments.

The responses were overwhelming.  Among the hundreds and hundreds of simple messages of support were longer stories and comment threads from people who were reaching out to him.  Stiles blinked, frozen by indecision; he wanted to start replying but knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop and he still wanted to spend some time with his dad.  Grimacing to himself, he left the comment threads with a promise to return to them somehow later.

Away from twitter, on one of the tabloid newspaper sites, the comments weren’t quite as supportive.  Sure there were a lot of people praising his courage but plenty more berating him – and Scott – for being selfish by not playing, or causing a distraction, or being a bad role model.  Stiles found that these comments, much more than the supportive ones were the ones he focused on. 

Some mad him angry, some sad while others just bemused him entirely, but each and every one seemed to sink into him and settle like a dead weight in his stomach. 

“Are you OK? You look really pale…” His father asked, sounding concerned.

Stiles looked up and blinked rapidly, not realising how long he’d been staring at the screen.  “Yeah, sorry, I was just…” He waved at the screen and his dad took the computer back, frowning at the comments he read.

“Why are you reading that rubbish?” Tom asked, clicking closed the screen.  Stiles couldn’t answer, he couldn’t quite put into words his need to read negatives, to know what people were saying about him.  In a way, he found it easy to dismiss the support, the ‘well dones’ and ‘so braves’ but the criticisms? They were harder to wave away.  “You know this is all rubbish, right?”

Stiles shrugged and looked away.  “When are you working?” He asked, trying to change the subject.

“Three.” His dad replied, voice deadpan; he clearly knew what his son was thinking and was not impressed. “You want to drop by the station, I’m sure everyone will want to see you…” Stiles nodded quickly, his father’s colleagues were good people, if for no other reason than they happily helped him maintain his dad’s strict diet. 

A ping from his phone alerted him to a text:

 

Scott, 11:32am

Have you seen your Pops is trending!? Check out

#SuperProud :-D

 

Stiles grinned and grabbed his computer back, typing in the hastag and laughing at what came up.  Amongst all the tweets of supports were gifs of random things, all ending with his dad at the interview saying ‘Super proud’.  There were an awful lot of gifs of cats falling off things, or dogs catching Frisbees and all of them made Stiles chuckle. 

He showed the feed to his father who scrolled through all the pictures and gifs with a look a slight incomprehension on his face.  “Well… that’s the world for you, I guess.” He said, completely unfazed by his elevation to an internet meme.

Stiles took a moment to look at his dad; his super solid, respectable, down to Earth father; a man who’d always be there for him no matter what.  Without thinking about it, Stiles folded himself into a hug and just held on. 

“Come on, sport.” His dad said kindly after hugging him back.  “Lots to do and you’ve already wasted half the day.”

Stifling a grumble about parents and condescending idioms, Stiles nodded and dashed back to his room to get ready to face the world as his honest self.

 

*             *             *

 

“So you want me to lie?” The words tumbled incredulously from Stiles’ mouth.

“No!” Marin barked, clearly exasperated and Stiles slumped back into his chair, arms folded, one eyebrow raised. “No.” She repeated a calmer tone. “That’s not what I’m saying.  My point was that this story is larger than any of us expected-“

“Not me!” Bobby cut in. “If any of you had _bothered_ to acknowledge my advice before the interview you’d have been more prepared. This was always gonna be HUGE-“

“Yes.” Marin’s tone had become brittle and Stiles couldn’t help but smirk. “Thank you. We’re all well aware of your… feelings…” Bobby threw his hands up in the air and shook his head but stayed quiet; occasionally he remembered he was a guest at Old Trafford.  Stiles gave his agent a quick smile then returned his attention, and glare, back on his handler.

The meeting had been going on for almost an hour and Stiles was grateful that Louis had been with him at the start of the meeting to remind Marin that she could only keep _his_ midfielder until nine am when he’d have to be released to training.  Glancing at the clock again, Stiles sighed slightly, _still another eleven minutes left_. 

Braeden checked where he’d looked and tapped on her tablet before turning it to her boss who nodded slightly.  “What I was saying was that until the story dies down a bit, until we can control it a little better, it may be of use to you … not… to be… as open… with…” She slowed down and eventually stopped under the weight of Stiles’ glare.  He’d been adamant about the fact that he and Danny would be going out on Saturday night, after the match, in Manchester and he’d only mentioned it in passing, not expecting the resulting argument.  “Fine. I can see this isn’t negotiable so all I’ll say is that this is not something that I can help you with, I have absolutely no control over what the press will write or say about you, your date or where you go, is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Stiles said, checking the clock again, which appeared to be frozen at exactly the same time as when he last checked.

“Look, it’s almost nine, why don’t you head down to training and catch up with us at the end of the day.” Braeden said and Stiles almost bolted up out of his chair. 

“Great, see ya!” He called over his shoulder as he dashed out without waiting for anyone else to speak.  Before the door closed he distinctly heard both Bobby and Lydia laughing and knew they, at least, would have his back – though he suspected that each of them viewed him as a money making machine more than anything else.

Apparently, requests for his numbered shirt had gone through the roof since his interview and had instantly depleted the available stock.  Fortunately, Lydia had anticipated this and had a rush order of ten thousand due in later in the week, which she said would cover the initial rush.  Stiles shook his head again as he walked away from the board room.  _Ten thousand shirts._ It amazed him; that that many people would actually spend good money, very good money, on _his_ shirt just because he was gay.

Both Lydia and Bobby though had files and folders full of endorsement opportunities and Stiles had balked at going through them all: “Just weed out anything evil.” He’d requested, but knew they’d still be a mass of questions waiting on his return that evening.  Braedon and Marin had been more concerned with press requests and scheduling media access. 

Stiles had felt more confident in agreeing to a large spread in the Guardian (a broadsheet newspaper he trusted) and the Daily Record (the most sport focused tabloid) but denying all other print requests – especially, bizarrely, one from the Sun.  He’d also been talked into features for a number of football focused magazines and, in return, convinced Marin that doing Attitude (the best UK gay magazine) was a good thing.  They’d all agreed, however, that these could and should be fitted around training and matches.

He made it down to the meeting room with a few minutes to spare so wasn’t the last in, for which he was grateful.  As he’d walked to the door, he couldn’t help but worry what the reaction was going to be when he walked it; he’d pictured everything from cheering to jeering.  He’d desperately wished that there wouldn’t be anything ‘comical’ done to show how ‘OK’ the team were with him being out.  Which is why it was such a relief to walk in and see heads raise to check who it was, then return to whatever it was they were doing.

Some people nodded hello as he walked past, but no more than had the week before, before he’d come out.  Scott studied his friend as Stiles walked over but they shared a grin long before they met up. “How was it?”

“Crazy…” Stiles replied and started telling his friend, in hushed tones so as not to be seen to be bragging, about the crazy amounts of endorsement offers and sponsorship deals Bobby had been touting.   The long and the short of it was that, despite which deals he took, despite even playing out the rest of the season, he and his dad could likely be set for life he was careful with his investments. The very concept of ‘investments’ though almost made him giggle with incredulity.

“That’s amazing man…” Scott said sounding genuinely pleased for his friend.  Stiles grinned and bumped shoulders with his best friend before mentally noting that he’d have to ensure he got Scott into some of those deals too; without his best friend giving up a part of his transfer fee and salary, Stiles wouldn’t have been in the position he was – it made sense to give something back.

“Alright gay boy.” A hand thudded good-naturedly onto Stiles’ shoulder as the words echoed loudly in the room.

“Don’t be a jackass, Jackson.”  Scott instantly replied and Stiles shrugged the hand off.

“What?! He is gay and a boy, it’s a factual description…” Jackson smirked, knowing he was causing a scene; the rest of the room had stopped to watch how this played out.

“I don’t care, it’s not cool.” Scott said, not backing down; instead he stood up and got in Jackson’s face meaning Stiles had to step up and push them apart.

“OK, OK… let’s all calm down huh. Jackson, you’re a dick. Factual.  But we don’t all call you The Dick, do we…? So, stop _being_ a dick and focus on being able to head a ball without jumping on top of a teammate.” Jackson’s face went tight with anger and his eye twitched as some of the rest of the team laughed.

“I was just joking about.” He said though gritted teeth.

“Not about that, dude…” Stiles said with a shake of his head. 

“What’s going on?” Derek Hale’s voice sounded loudly from the door and everyone stopped still.

“Nothing, Skip.” Stiles said, putting an arm around Jackson and shaking him slightly.  He forward accepted he arm, but he was tense and still clearly wound up. Hale stared at them for a while but it was clear no one else was going to say anything.  Slowly, the general hubbub of conversation started up and Stiles released Jackson. 

“I really was just kidding about…” Jackson said, which Stiles understood was as close to an apology as he was going to get.

“OK, fine… don’t. Just… not for a while. OK?” Stiles half asked, but the striker nodded and slunk down into a chair.

“I called that ball by the way, Rooney was the one who shouldn’t have jumped.”

“Didn’t he call it too?” Scott asked and Jackson shrugged.

“I was nearer.” He sounded like a petulant child and all three of them knew it. “Oh shut up.” Neither Scott or Stiles had said anything, but they shared a smile over the head of their colleague.

“OK. Let’s begin.” Louis said from the front of the room and Scott and Stiles sat at the table next to Jackson and focused on what was important; their next match.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo... the eagle eyed among you will have noticed that there's now a chapter count.
> 
> The final chapter is written and will go up tomorrow (once I've proof read it).
> 
> This story is ending waaaaaay earlier than I wanted it too, but I just don't have time to write as much as I'd like.
> 
> If I ever come back to it, I'll continue posting them at the end of this story and promise not to post until it's finished/ I have more than 6 weeks worth of chapters written... I dunno though... the other choice is that I just write and epilogue set some time in the future and Stiles can remember all the stuff I *would* have written - it's up to you. If you genuinely want to know, let me know...
> 
> G*


	30. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' first game after coming out.

If Stiles had ever been more nervous before a match he couldn’t remember it. 

He was biting his nails and his leg was jiggling uncontrollably. He couldn’t help but imagine all the ways the match ahead could go wrong; chief among them was the crowd’s reaction.  He’d been in newspapers and reports all week – everyone appeared to have something to say and everyone wanted to say it about him.  There had been a natural ebb and flow to his coming out story but when the squad had been announced with his place confirmed for the upcoming match against Queens Park Rangers, the press had gone into overdrive.

This would be the first time ever an out gay player had played football in the Premier League and opinion was split between those who thought he’d crumble under the pressure and those who thought he’d play even better though almost all of them commented on the incredible force the fans would be on the day.  The trouble was, none of them agreed on how the fans would react.  Most of the long-time commentators predicted he’d face some ‘stick’ as they called it, but it shouldn’t be too bad, some others thought he’d be as supported as he was on social media sites, while others still seemed to be gleefully looking forward to him being booed off the pitch.

The last group were fuelled by a concerted online presence of anonymous trolls who were accusing him of letting down the club and had informed him more than once they’d be there to boo him if he dared to step on _their_ pitch.

Stiles swallowed and tried to refocus on the briefing for the match; they were playing a team everyone would expect them to beat so it was imperative that they do so.  Queen’s Park didn’t have anything like the depth of talent Man U had, but they were scrappy and hungry and Stiles didn’t want to write them off.  He knew how easy it was to underestimate a team and fall a goal behind only to never get it back.

He was taking his place, with Scott, on the bench for the start of the game.  Louis and Ryan had already talked about the substation strategy – they’d be subbed on around the seventieth minute if all went well.  What things ‘going well’ would look like wasn’t elaborated on but he’d nodded anyway. 

Stiles fought the urge to get his phone out again.  He’d turned it off after a final text to Danny and a separate one to his father.  They were in the Manchester United VIP suite with Allison and Lydia; this was the first outing Danny would have as Stiles’ boyfriend and he was heartsick at not being at his side but trusted his father and friends to look after him.  While there were rarely press in or around the suite, Stiles knew that somehow Danny’s picture would end up somewhere and people would add two and two and make four.  They’d planned their date for that evening so they knew they were going public anyway, so it wasn’t that much of a concern, plus he and Danny had sat for hours ensuring that he and his family would be as safe as possible from press intrusion.  Fortunately, their show of support of Isaac – especially when they followed up on their threat to report people to the press complaints commission –meant they had a track record to fall back on; no one would risk invading their privacy again, at least… that was the idea.

Danny seemed confident though and ensured Stiles that his parents were happy they felt able to be public about their relationship.  Remembering how supportive his boyfriend had been, and continuously was, made Stiles smile and duck his head a little; he truly felt lucky to have ever met Danny.

“You’re thinking about your boyfriend again, aren’t you?” Scott asked with a smile in his voice.

“Come on…” Stiles whined, asking for a little leeway.

“Whatever man, whatever makes you smile like that, I’m happy.” They bumped shoulders and returned to companionable silence.  Scott and Allison were still circling but had planned a ‘quiet evening in’ while Stiles was out on his first ever official boydate which could only mean one thing really; he and Danny may be fighting for column inches against the gossip magazine’s favourite couple.

Derek brought them both out of their reverie by calling everyone in for the team talk.  Stiles tried not to let his nerves show as he huddled in with the rest of the team, bracketed by Scott on one side and Jackson, bizarrely, on the other.  After their little face off in the team meeting room, they’d settled back into an almost friendship; they still needled each other and sniped but Jackson never mentioned his sexuality again.

As the captain began his pep-talk, Stiles found his mind drifting, gaze ghosting over his teammates faces.  No one was looking back at him; they were all focused on Derek and the game ahead. It struck him then that for these seventeen players at least, the fact he was gay wasn’t anywhere near as important as coming away from the match with three points.

“Stilinksi! Focus!” Derek snapped and suddenly all eyes, were on him.

“Sorry Skipper.” Stiles mumbled, genuinely embarrassed that it had been so obvious he’d been miles away.

“It’s fine, just… stay focused out there.” A hint of trepidation entered his captain’s voice. “Look.  We don’t know what kind of reception Stilinski will get out there today, but, _and this means you Whittemore_ , everyone keeps their head-“

“What? Even you?” Darren Fletcher asked with a grin and, while the joke was pretty feeble, most players laughed, happy to have some release.

“Yeah, Fletch, even me… Louis and Ryan are doing interviews after the game no matter what, but no player has to if they don’t want to and, if things get… ugly, I’d suggest you stay out of the way.  We’re players, not PR managers.” He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably as Stiles bristled; he hated that his being out on the pitch might constitute something ‘PR’ worthy.  “We’re players.  And we play in Manchester red which means we are the best of the best and anyone who says otherwise…” Derek paused and ducked his head a little, his smile going feral. “Fuck them.”

Stiles’ mouth pulled into a grin. He’d never heard his captain swear before but it seemed liked the perfect time.

“Fuck them for trying to distract us. Fuck them for saying we can’t play as a team.  Fuck them for saying we don’t know how to have a brother’s back. Fuck them for coming to _our_ house and thinking they can _win_?!” Derek’s voice had risen with each statement and the last was greeted by a few players responding with ‘fuck them’s of their own. “Fuck ‘em.” Derek said one last time and strode through the changing room doors out towards the tunnel.

Determination felt like a raging fire in his belly as Stiles followed his team out. Each and every one of them looked ready to steamroll over any team stupid enough to face them. _I can do this.  I’m gonna do this and I’m gonna play and **fuck them** if they think I won’t.”_ And just like that his fear melted away into a desperate need to play, to be on that pitch and doing what he did best.  Suddenly, he was pissed as hell he wasn’t starting.  Just as he was about to start fuming he remembered his training regime and the fact that they still weren’t sure his stamina would last a full ninety.  _I’ll show them_. He thought, fist clenching as he promised himself he’d be starting by Christmas.

“This is Genim Stilinksi, but call him Stiles.” A voice said to his left and he looked at the Man United staff member who was smiling and him.  They locked eyes and then Stiles noticed the child the woman was eye rolling down to; his player escort – a young person, a fan, who’d walk out with him onto the pitch.

“Oh. Hi.” He said, a bit dazed but, looking down the line, he saw everyone had one.  Most were chatting amicably and some had a hold of their escort’s hand already.

“Hi.” Said the boy, scuffing his foot.

“I’m Stiles.” He said holding out a hand to shake.

“Tom.”

“No way! That’s my dad’s name!” Stiles said with a laugh.

“Really…?” The kid looked up at him and smiled hesitantly.

“Yeah, man… best name ever!”

“It is, promise.” Scott said from behind him and they shared a smile.

“So you gonna be a footballer when you grow up?” Stiles asked and tried to hold back a smile when the boy sighed dramatically.

“No… Dad wants me to, but…” He shrugged again.

“Well, what do you want to be…?”

“I dunno… an astronaut maybe, or a dinosaur.” Tom said after a moment’s thought.

Stiles laughed, genuinely surprised and happy, “That’d be so cool! If you grow up to be a dinosaur, do you promise not to eat me?”

Tom shook his head and gave Stiles a hard look, “I’d eat everything.”  The kid started rambling on at break neck speed about carnivorous dinosaurs and how they’d never have to eat spinach and how big they were and how fast they were and how scary they were and how cool they were. Even when they had to walk out and Stiles took Tom’s hand to head out onto the pitch his escort didn’t stop talking.  It wasn’t until they were lined up facing the crowd that he faltered. “Wow.”

“I know, right?” Stiles said out of the corner of his mouth; he wasn’t supposed to talk during the team announcement but couldn’t help but respond.  Fortunately, Tom seemed happy to stare out at the crowd who were all cheering and waving. 

The knot in his stomach got bigger and bigger as the loudspeaker called out player after player, each getting a huge cheer from the larger than average Old Trafford crowd. Stiles held his breath when it came to his name, time seemed to slow down and it felt like hours he was stood waiting for his name to be announced.

“Genim Stilinski” His name reverberated around the stadium as the cheer for the player before him started to die down.  Instantly the entire section of the stands in front of him rose to their feet and the cheer that erupted nearly knocked him back a step.  Tom turned to look up at him and looked to mouth; ‘that’s really loud!’ but Stiles couldn’t hear the boy less than two feet away from him.

The cheer modulated but never really dimmed then the applause and stamping of feet started and it felt like the entire ground was shaking.  The response went on so long that up and down the line, his teammates shifted slightly out of formation to look down at him, some of them joining in with the applause; something completely out of protocol.  He looked out to the dug out to see all the managers and coaches clapping along and smiling, no doubt in relief.

Finally, after an embarrassingly long time, the crowd petered off and the announcer was able to call out: “Scott McCall.” The cheers weren’t quite as deafening but were certainly louder than most players and definitely louder than any he’d had before.  Stiles laughed and resisted the urge to grab his best friend.  Scott had had quite a week as well; though it was mainly online and not as talked about in the press.

He’d been involved in a fair number of Twitter-fights about his calling out of the Sun and supporting his friend. Braeden had eventually put her foot down and taken back his Twitter after one fight with a journalist was reported in full in their paper the next day, but Scott refused to let things lie.  What was move amusing to Stiles, and everyone else apparently, was the ‘Hand of Truth’ meme. 

Essentially, it was decided that Scott had magical powers and could make someone tell the truth by placing his hand on their shoulder.  This had led to a plethora of photoshopped images with Scott placing his hand on the shoulders of celebrities, world leaders and famous people with ‘truths’ written beneath them. It also led to a lot of ‘comedy’ ones where people, usually hilarious straight guys, put Scott next to a picture of one of their male friends with the tag ‘I’m gay’ so it looked like he’d outed them.  The colossal eye-roll they both gave over that was epic, but that was the internet – for all the fun times, there were just as many jackasses.

Eventually, with the last sub announced and the team spreading out to warm up, the crowd’s cheers dwindled away to a happy murmur.  “You got a big cheer.” Tom said, looking at Stiles as if considering something, or reconsidering.

“Yep.” Stiles said but didn’t elaborate.

Tom went off with a wave and a ‘good luck’ and Stiles took his place behind the manager with the other substitutes.   He and Scott watched the team get into position for the start of the match and Derek and Queen’s Park Rangers’ captain met the referee in the centre circle to begin the match.

After Derek’s ‘fuck them’ speech, it was unsurprising that Manchester came out fighting.  However, QPR’s plan was clearly to defend and then hit them on the break and after the initial surge and chances, the game settled into something slightly more akin to a normal match. Stiles couldn’t help worrying at his nails with his teeth; this was a match they had to win.  If they lost the first game after he came out, even if he didn’t play, it would be spun as if it was his fault, his distraction.

The Man U defensive line could almost have walked off the park for the first ten minutes; it was almost entirely played in the QPR half.  The couple of times a long ball was punted out by one of their defenders it was almost always won by a Manchester player and sent straight back.  Hale was playing centrally and completely dominating the pitch. He was calling plays, tackling, passing, crossing and each minute without a goal seemed to personally offend him and make him only more determined.

Just after twenty minutes of attack, attack, attack being met by inspired defence there was an actual break.  A corner – loftily swung to the back post by Hale, for Rooney –was headed out by a defender and it had, luckily, landed at the feet of the only QPR midfielder who hadn’t been in the scrum defending the goal, he quickly chipped the ball forward into what seemed to be open pitch but their forward was sprinting as soon as the ball was launched.  He bolted past the defenders who’d taken a split second too long each to figure out what was happening and then he had the ball with only the keeper to beat.

Stiles gripped Scott’s forearm, half out of his seat; he’d seen this countless times – one on one was never good news for a keeper and usually meant a goal.  The striker dribbled the ball long in front of him bought caught up to it too early to shoot, instead he tried for a light touch but the ball’s momentum meant it carried forward quicker than he’d have liked and it became a race to see if de Gea, the Manchester keeper, or the QPR striker could get to it first.  With a desperate lunge, the forward tried to get his foot under the ball and chip it up over de Gea who was also sliding into the ball, trying to clear it. 

Stiles’ heart stopped as the forward got there first and the ball lifted off the ground.  de Gea desperately threw his hand up and his fingertips brushed against the ball before the two players collided in a violent crash.  Despite being worried for his teammate, Stiles’ eyes, along with 60,000 other peoples’, followed a wobbling ball as it bounced closer and closer to the Manchester goal.  Fortunately, the touch the goalie had given it managed to push it just wide - though without that it would have certainly been a goal.

The linesman indicated for a corner but the referee was standing over de Gea and the striker, both of whom were rolling on the ground seemingly injured.  Stiles rolled his eyes, it was part of the modern game, but not something he liked.  It rarely made any difference to the ref, exasperated the fans and annoyed the opposing team, which, he guessed, was the point; that and getting a few moments rest time for the rest of the players.

de Gea got up first, and raised a hand to the dugout before limping back to his goal; keepers were notoriously hardy, but Hale still went to check on him and they shared a few words before Derek was satisfied and clapped him on the back.  The lull had allowed a lot of QPR players to drift forward into the Manchester penalty box which seemed teeming with players as no one settled.

As a team, they’d watched numerous QPR corners as it was how they’d scored the majority of their goals; being in constant motion was one of the ways they unsettled the other team and they only stilled when the ball was in the air.  Suddenly, Derek barked “Settle down!” – even from half a pitch away, Stiles could hear him, and the unrelenting command of his tone - and the majority of players did, even the QPR ones.  Some started moving again, but the Manchester players didn’t react; they’d been given places in the box and were evenly spaced to cover any cross in. 

The midfielder taking the corner watched for some hidden signal then floated the ball into the centre of the mass of players and Stiles saw Darren Fletcher leap a header up and out to Mata who surged forward with Herrara fanning out to the wing on the opposite side.  Rooney kept pace with the QPR defenders who were streaming back into position while keeping an eye on Mata who had dodged the first tackle but was facing a brute of a midfielder.  Instead of trying to go round him, he passed the ball wide and Herrara carried on the run. 

It was Herrera and Rooney against two defenders and the keeper; if they played fast and clever this could be the first Man U goal.  However, just before a cross could be fired off to Rooney, a QPR player who’d been faster than the rest slid into Ander Herrera in the most blatant foul Stiles had seen in years.  He, along with all the Manchester subs and staff, shot out of their seats, yelling for a red card – an automatic dismissal.

The referee blew his whistle and beckoned the QPR player over.  He spoke to him sternly and went into his pocket for a card; only yellow though meaning he wouldn’t be sent off.  Stiles collapsed back disgruntled and muttered with Scott about how it was obviously a red. Hale trotted up and studied the lay of the ground in front of him.  The four man wall was edging nervously, trying to block a direct shot on goal and the keeper was yelling at his team, trying to block certain angles.  Stiles frowned; Hale was too far out for a shot surely, he could see Rooney and van Persie on the near side post and Derek nodded visibly at them.  The QPR keeper edged that direction and he shouted for his defenders to watch them.

Then Hale curled an incredible 30 yard kick into the far corner which dropped into goal well out of reach of the keeper’s dive. It was one nil!  Stiles was stunned for a second before he launched out of his chair and yelled along with the rest of the home crowd.  The free kick had been perfect; reminiscent of Beckham at his best and the fans were going ballistic.  A Man U side that goes 1-0 up at home is a hard side to beat for the best of teams, which QPR weren’t.

This was proved less than five minutes later when a scrappy goal mouth scramble meant that a loose ball ended up in front of Herrara who tapped it in to make it 2-0.  Stiles felt as if his whole body was lighter; even if he didn’t play – which was unlikely after establishing  a two goal lead – Man U would win and they’d proven he, and his interview, weren’t a ‘distraction’.  

The rest of the first half seemed to slow down after that; QPR seemed shell shocked and, while Hale still tried to galvanise his teammates – there was definitely a slacking off, a relaxed confidence which didn’t drive the game as hard.  That was why it came as such a surprise when van Persie was brutally kicked to the ground.

He’d turned to receive a cross to his chest but a QPR defender jumped for it, foot up and studs out; it could be argued he was trying to go for the ball, but his boots were so high and  obviously in violation of the rules; the referee’s whistle blew before they players even connected and that may have been what caused van Persie to flinch and turn away so the blow caught him in the shoulder rather than the chest.  Despite this, he still dropped to the floor instantly and this time everyone knew it wasn’t play acting. 

The Manchester doctors were on the pitch and running even as the referee was dishing out a straight red.  The fans nearest the action were screaming with rage and jeered as the QPR player stormed off the pitch.  Stiles had been so intent on watching what was happening to his injured teammate that he missed whatever direction Scott had been given, but his friend was unzipping his Manchester United top and heading to the touch line.

Stiles watched van Persie being treated and then stretchered off the field to a sea of applause. The striker was one of the key players for Manchester; a really world class player and if he was seriously injured it could be trouble for the club - though both Scott and Jackson would no doubt relish the chance to play, and start, more.

When the substitution happened Scott ran forward to Hale and nodded to his quick instructions before heading to the position van Persie normally held. Stiles’ anger at the foul made him miss the slow swell of the chant but when he heard it he couldn’t help but grin, not caring who could see.  It was a simple song, to the tune of ‘He’s Got the Whole World in his Hands’ often reworked by crowds, must famously for Jason Lee’s hairstyle where everyone sang ‘He’s got a pineapple on his head’.  This one though, wasn’t anywhere near as mocking:

 _He’s the best friend in the world,_  
He’s the best friend in the world,  
He’s the best friend in the world,  
And his name is Scott McCall!

It was by far and away the weirdest football song Stiles had ever heard, but it made him laugh.  He couldn’t help it and it appeared Scott was struggling too.  As Derek was taking his time in setting up the free kick, Scott raised a hand in acknowledgment to the crowd who cheered in approval before starting the song up again.

It felt great to have Scott acknowledged for his part in supporting Stiles and for facing all the rumours, stories and attacks from rival fans.  As much as he wanted to join in, Stiles restrained himself, though he song along in his head.  It died down though as the ref blew the whistle to restart the match with another free kick in a position decidedly similar to the one Derek had scored from earlier.  This time though the goalie was at the far post and there was an extra man on the wall.  Stiles wasn’t bad at free kicks and even he could see there’d be no way it could be curled in this time.

Instead, it was sent out wide to where Shaw was on the far wing; he controlled the ball with his chest and half volleyed a cross into Rooney who jumped into a showy kick which rocketed the ball straight at the goal.  With no real ability to aim, however, it smacked straight into the keepers hands.  The force of it meant that rather than catch it cleanly though, it bounced away from him and he scrambled to dive back onto it.  Unfortunately for him, Scott had been watching the whole thing and got to the ball first, chipping it up high over the goal line and into the roof of the net.

It wasn’t the most polished or skilfully goal he’d ever scored, but it still took Manchester 3-0 up in the first half. Scott himself seemed almost surprised that he’d scored with his first touch of the game but gleefully was caught up in the mass of Manchester players who descended on him.

The referee allowed the game to restart for only a couple of seconds before blowing his whistle for half time meaning Stiles didn’t have to wait long for a chance to congratulate his best friend.  He fell in beside Scott on their way down the tunnel to the changing room. “First touch, huh?” He asked with a smile.

“Yep.”  Scott’s grin was infectious, “Hey, did you hear what they were singing?”

“I know, right?” Stiles said, wanting nothing more than to laugh. “Crazy.”

“But brilliant.”

“Yeah… course, they don’t actually _know_ you…” He teased and Scott clipped him round the back of the head.

“Dumbass.”

“See, a best friend in the world would not hit me. That’s abuse.” He said with a smile as Scott just rolled his eyes.  They joined the rest of the team in the locker room who were all drinking water, talking to trainers or just sitting and catching their breath.

Louis and Derek only spent a little time talking to them about not being complacent, about staying focused, about giving it 100% in the second half but Stiles knew they’d it would be unlikely that the next 45 minutes would be as exciting as the first.  They did update them on their injured teammate however; van Persie was on his way to hospital for an x-ray but there was a possibility there was ‘some breakages’.  _Not a break then, but maybe multiple breaks_ , Stiles worried.  Getting injured was every professional player’s worst nightmare; no matter how much you tried, it was unlikely you’d ever get back to your former strength.

The news dampened the mood somewhat until Derek roused them again for the second half.  He grabbed Scott to fill him in on strategy and Stiles walked back to his seat with the assistant manager Ryan Giggs. “How you feeling?”

“Fine, good.” Stiles responded honestly.

“You gonna be good playing today then? If we need you to go out there and feed crosses to McCall?”

“Of course, it’s what I do?” Stiles said, spreading his arms and grinning, earning him a laugh.

“That and more, Stilinski, that and more. How’s your stamina training coming?” They chatted on their way out of the tunnel and into the sub benches so when the whistle went for the second half to start Stiles was mildly surprised.  He was less surprised by the frantic attacking of the ten-man visiting side who’d clearly been told to come out fighting.

Manchester had clearly anticipated this though and their defence was a solid wall; de Gea rarely had to do anything more than watch as wild shoots flew over the crossbar or wide of goal.  Being a player down also meant they had to work harder to get the ball back when Manchester had it and they had fewer options if they did win the ball.

Within ten minutes the game had settled back into a comfortable dominance for Manchester.  Scott, Hale and Rooney all had shots on goal but couldn’t quite get it past the QPR goalee who, after a couple of costly errors in the first half, seemed to have found his form.

At the seventieth minute, Stiles and Matt Daehler were told to warm up; a midfielder and a defender.  They didn’t particularly need fresh legs in either, but, with a 3-0 lead, Louis was clearly giving them both a chance and with Scott out, didn’t need another striker.  Stiles knew that, for him, it was a matter of proving to the papers and the commentators that he could still play after coming out, for Daehler though it was more; he’d apparently not impressed the management of Manchester and there was already talk of cancelling his contract and letting him go in the January transfer window. 

Stiles watched the play on the field with a heightened level of intensity. There were a few players Hale would likely ask him to cover, but he thought it would likely be their centre midfielder, who was fast and had been on both him and Herrara like a limpet since during the whole game.  If he took that spot, Herrera could go out to one wing while Hale could take the other, especially if Shaw came up from defence and became a secondary midfielder.  Stiles nodded, hoping he’d read the game and his captain correctly.

The two substitutions were announced and Stiles shook hands with Darren Fletcher who he was replacing.  As soon as his boots hit the crash a loud cheer shook the stadium as everyone, it seemed, took to their feet to applaud him. Rather than acknowledge it, Stiles tried to focus on the game, show he was still a footballer.  “Mark him!” Derek said with a nod at the player he’d identified while warming up. “Ander and I will go out wide, Shaw will come up. Hold the middle, cross into McCall if you can, if not, wings, got it?” He waited for Stiles to nod once before shouting out to the other players mentioned. 

The cheering and applause hadn’t died down, if anything it was louder.  Stiles was resolute though; he was a footballer, as warming as it was to be appreciated by his home fans, he wanted to play.  The QPR player nodded at him as Herrara dashed off to the wing.  “Stilinski right?” The player asked and Stiles nodded. “Good on you man.” The player said and stuck out his hand.

It was the middle of a game, a game QPR were losing, and yet this opposing player wanted to shake his hand. It was so far beyond any context Stiles had to draw on, he did the only thing he could think of doing; he shook hands with his opposite number.  The crowd cheered and applauded again and Stiles frowned, wondering what was wrong with them. _Surely they can’t be cheering me just for running onto the pitch shaking hands with someone._

Any more introspection was put on hold though as the QPR keeper kicked the ball out to restart the game.  It sailed over Stiles’ head and was caught by Luke Shaw who passed it slightly up and right of Stiles position.  He did a little dash to collect the ball, checking who was free as he did.  As soon as the ball touched his foot a quick cheer went up from the crowd, followed by another as he dribbled, and a third when he passed it out to Derek; Scott wasn’t an option as he was being soundly marked in the box.  The crowd chuckled at their own reactions and Stiles had to resist shaking his head.

To focus away from the crowd, Stiles shadowed his man and kept an eye on some scrappy play up field which ended with a corner for Manchester United.  Hale whistled and pointed to Stiles, then the corner asking him to take it.  Dashing forward he watched his captain for the signal as to what type of cross he wanted.  Just before he reached the corner flag he saw Derek hold up three fingers against his chest; a high ball to the back corner.  Checking who was there, Stiles saw Scott jostling with a shorter defender and he knew Derek was hoping he could make something happen for his friend.

Turning away from his captain Stiles realised he was standing in front of the away end and snapped his attention away quickly before making any eye contact with the opposing fans.  His heart rate lifted - if there was ever going to be any abuse, this is be where it came from; from hard-core fans, who were losing badly, with a player sent off and at a lull in the match.

Instead of abusive chants though, he heard a quick football chant being taken up by the entire stadium, or at least the home stands.

 _Stiles, Stiles, Super-Stiles_  
Stiles, Stiles, Super-Stiles  
Stiles, Stiles, Super-Stiles  
Super Stiles Stilinksi!

It wasn’t to a tune, it was simply sung out but the Manchester fans, loudly and to the exclusion of all else.  A part of him wanted to stop and revel in the fact that not only had the Manchester fans, or away fans, _not_ shouted homophobic abuse at him but they in fact seemed wholly supportive, however, he had a job to do.

So, rather than look up and take it all in, he placed the ball exactly where he wanted it on the quarter circle of the corner, looked up to check the positions of his team and crossed the most beautifully placed kick of his career.  It sailed up and dropped exactly to where Scott’s head was rising up to head it into the back of the net; at least, it would have gone in, save for an expertly timed jump which knocked the ball wide and out towards the wing. 

Biting back a curse, Stiles came up and out trying to get back to the centre. The chant had ended with the collective gasp and groan of the chance denied but Stiles found he didn’t care.  As much as the support of the fans mattered and he was incredibly grateful, it was the match he wanted to focus on, to succeed in and a goal assist would have made a great statistic to claim on his first outing as an out gay player.

Hale won the ball out on the wing and passed it quickly out to Stiles in the centre.  He only had a split second to decide what to do; Scott was being well covered, Herrera too out on the wing and Rooney was inexplicable at the far post completely off side. Then he saw it; a clear avenue between him and the net.  It only appeared as another defended drifted closer to where Scott was trying to get free – clearly it was well known how often he passed to his friend – which meant Stiles had a chance to take a shot on goal. 

The realisation hit him as the ball came to his feet.  If he’d been a different sort of man, he may have hesitated, second guessed himself but if there was one thing Stiles understood it was instinct and as the ball left his foot – quick and tight along the ground – he knew it was going in.

The resounding cheer of the crowd confirmed it and elation filled him as, never mind an assist, he’d scored!  And this time, it wasn’t a misplaced cross or a goalmouth scramble, it was an honest to God, well struck, perfectly timed, goal. 

Stiles bolted for a camera, in slightly more control of himself than when he’d scored in his previous game and stood before it making a heart shape with his hands, a smirk playing out across his face.  It was a general message of love to his fans and supporters but, more importantly to him, it was for Danny.  He remembered all those weeks ago, curled up on his boyfriend’s sofa watching a match where a player had done exactly what he’d just done and Danny had moaned about how cheesy it was. Well, now it was happening to him, for him.   Stiles knew he’d be blushing and laughing and actually looked forward to seeing Danny and getting ribbed for being such a goof.

It lasted less than two seconds though as the rest of the team tackled him to the ground in a friendly ‘pile on’ to celebrate his goal.  Unsurprisingly enough, Scott had got there first and his strong body squashed him into the soft grass of Old Trafford.  As uncomfortable as it was, Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

“You going for top goal scorer this season, then?!” Scott yelled in his ear and Stiles tried to shake his head for all the good it did.  Before too long though, his teammates withdrew and allowed him to get up to yet another wild cheer from the crowd.  This time he did acknowledge them, first with a wave and then applause of his own directed around the whole stadium.  It wasn’t enough, but he wanted to show that their support was appreciated.

“Stilinski!” Hale bellowed and jerked his head back towards the Manchester half – they might be four-nil up but the match wasn’t over and the captain clearly had his head in the game, even if Stiles’ wasn’t.

The rest of the match played out much as the whole game had; Manchester dominating, QPR trying to attack on the break but not getting anywhere.  Despite more chances when the final whistle blew, it was still 4-0.

The score was better than Stiles could have wished for – not only was it a resounding win, but he’d actually scored.

He’d scored in a match that was played at home, in front of his fans, who all knew he was gay.  His boyfriend was watching him from the VIP suite, hopefully proud and happy and getting on well with his semi-father-in-law.  His father would have seen the crowd’s reaction, probably been singing along, and would know that Stiles was safe and supported in Manchester. His fans all over the country, the world, will have seen an out gay player, playing and scoring.

He’d come a long way since the season before, and, for once, he was looking forward to what the future would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that's it for now. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> What's going to happen now is I'm going to (possibly) keep writing as there's a bazillion and one other aspects of this story that I want to explore including some new relationships... I won't be posting until another 'section' is complete though so there's not the wait while I try and get finished.
> 
> Before that though, there's like 4 chapters of Scarred Singles to finish.... :-)
> 
> So, until there's more written, thanks for reading, thanks for any and all comments - it's been fun and see you in a few months... maybe...
> 
> G*


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